


A High Class Education

by Ksue



Series: High Class [1]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-04
Packaged: 2018-03-12 22:52:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 37,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3358277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ksue/pseuds/Ksue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After his high-profile and ugly divorce, Professor John Smith turned to high class escort Belle du Jour for comfort and companionship. When classes begin for the semester, no one is more surprised than John when Belle walks into his class. Except maybe Belle's alter ego, Rose Tyler.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> While I am borrowing Billie's character (and occupation) from Secret Diary of a Call Girl, this is not a DW/Secret Diary crossover. Belle is Rose, not Hannah. 
> 
> Also, while there is a good deal of plot to this story, there will also be a good deal of smut. So if that's not your thing, you may want to stop reading now. 
> 
> Finally, as always, I couldn't have done this without my fantastic beta Marissa. She's the best.

Chapter 1

Belle du Jour walks into the hotel bar like she owns the place. It’s one of the tricks of the trade, so to speak, and it’s always worked for her. One of her regulars, John, sits at the bar nursing a Scotch, a glass of chilled white wine beside him. She doesn’t normally drink on the job, but with John one glass of wine before going to the room upstairs is tradition. 

“Hello, John,” she says, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder as she sits down beside him. He turns to her, his grin broad and a bit manic, the fringe of his shaggy brown hair falls into his eyes. She reaches up to brush it away.

“Hello, Belle.” He leans in for a chaste kiss that tastes like expensive Scotch. Anyone at the bar probably thinks they’re in a relationship, meeting for a drink after work. They would never guess that an obscene amount of money is going to change hands when they head upstairs. 

“How are you?” Belle asks. She takes a small sip of her wine, letting the crisp sweetness roll over her tongue and biting back a moan at the taste. 

John drapes an arm over the back of her chair, his fingers drifting lazily over the skin of her shoulder, left bare by her dress. Tingles race across her skin at the touch. She rests her free hand on his knee, squeezing lightly. A tremor runs through him and his eyes flutter shut for a brief moment. 

“I’m fine. My sabbatical is winding down; I’ll have to go back to teaching soon. Term starts in a few weeks.” Belle makes it a point to know the broad strokes about her clients, but not the details. She knows that John is a professor at a University, but she has never asked which one, and they’ve never talked about his specialty. He’s been on sabbatical for the last year, researching for a book he’s writing. 

“Are you happy to be back in the classroom?” Belle doesn’t mention that she’ll be going back to school herself in a few weeks. Their meetings aren’t about her.  
John sighs and scrubs a hand over his face.

“I don’t know. I’ve not been back since…well, since.” Belle makes a sound in her throat, half agreement, half sympathy, and starts drawing small circles on his thigh. Anyone who reads the British tabs knows his story, married to Reinette Poisson, a socialite descended from royalty, her affair and their subsequent divorce, accompanied by the requisite scandal. The paparazzi still hound him occasionally, especially surrounding the release of his latest book or an event for his foundation, Breathe Free. It’s part of the reason they meet for a drink first, in case someone snaps a picture of him. 

“I’m sure you’ll be brilliant,” Belle says. She leans in and presses a kiss to his cheek, his stubble scratching at her lips. 

They finish their drinks, for which John pays, and then he reaches for her hand, tucking it into the crook of his elbow as he leads the way to the elevator.

As soon as the doors slide shut, John is on her. He pushes her against the wall, pinning her there with his thigh between her legs, and nips at her neck. 

“Mmm, hello,” she hums, just as he claims her lips in a kiss. His hands skate down her sides to the hem of her dress, tickling the skin of her thighs as his tongue traces patterns just below her ear. Belle gasps, grinding down on his thigh. 

“John,” she breathes, threading her fingers through that really great hair and giving it a sharp tug. He nips harder at her neck, but still not hard enough to leave a mark. He knows better. 

The elevator doors chime and slide open, and John sweeps her into his arms, carrying her a short way down the hall to the room they use every time they meet. Not for the first time with him, Belle wants to say sod procedure and go straight to shagging him rotten, but she can’t. There’s a line that shouldn’t be crossed, and leaving the particulars for later is that line.

John doesn’t push, just sets her down inside the door and reaches into the breast pocket of his jacket. Then he leaves for the en suite with a kiss. Belle waits until she’s counted the money, even though he’s never tried to short her before, and then calls her manager with their all clear signal. 

While John showers, Belle goes through her own routine. She tucks the envelope into her purse and tucks her purse in the cupboard. She takes a handful of condoms and puts them on the bedside table, just waiting to be used. She shimmies out of her knickers, knowing that John likes to discover she’s bare beneath her dress. Then she lounges in the middle of the bed and waits.

John comes back from the shower, skin dry, hair damp, not bothering to hide his nakedness or his arousal. A thrill races through Belle’s blood, leaving a pleasant warmth in its wake. Though Belle is a professional and it’s her job to turn men on, seeing John hard after only a snog and a quick grope in the elevator is something else. It makes her feel more desired than any other bloke has ever made her feel. 

“Hello,” he says when her eyes finish their perusal of his body and end up back at his face.

“Hello,” she says. She gives him her best she-wolf smile and beckons him closer. John stalks forward, kneeling on the bed and crawling over her, dragging a hand up her leg as he goes. His fingers skate over her core and his eyes darken when he encounters the soft curls instead of lace.

“Naughty girl,” he says. He abandons his trek upwards and ducks under her dress instead, tracing his tongue along her slit. Belle’s head drops back to the pillows and she groans, the sound incredibly loud in the silent room. “Yes. Let me hear you.”

John nudges his shoulder into Belle’s knee and she lets her legs fall open, surrendering herself to his attention. He teases her with licks and nips, working first one finger and then another inside her. By the time he’s thrusting against the mattress for want of release, Belle is writhing and crying out beneath him. 

“John, please,” she begs, because she knows he likes it and because she can’t go another second without feeling him inside of her. He reaches for one of the condoms on the nightstand and sheathes himself before sinking into her with a shuddering moan that Belle feels in her heart. 

Neither of them lasts as long as they’d like to before they come with shattering intensity. Belle’s entire body is wracked with tremors that don’t subside even as John gathers her in his arms and tucks her head to his chest.

“Shh,” he murmurs, skating his hand up and down her back. Finally Belle stills.

“That was…” she breathes.

“Incredible. How do you manage it?” John asks. Belle shakes her head, the movement hampered by Johns sweaty chest beneath her cheek. She can’t tell him that it’s different with him, that he makes her feel in a way no other client or boyfriend ever has. She can’t hint at an attachment to him, or personal feelings. She already finds it difficult to stay professional when she’s with him, she has to hold on to some shred of it. 

“So it’s worthy of top marks, Professor?” she teases. John growls playfully into her ear, his fingertips digging lightly into her side until she giggles.

“The highest, Miss du Jour.” John presses a kiss to her forehead and sighs. “I wish I had time for this to be an overnight appointment.”

“Me too,” Belle echoes. 

They bask in each other’s presence for a while, enjoying the silence and the contact until the alarm on John’s phone goes off. He sighs deeply and gets out of bed, pulling on his clothes slowly, like he loathes every moment of it. 

“Why does this feel like an ending?” John asks, sitting next to Belle and smoothing the hair away from her face. She presses her cheek into his hand. 

“Because it is. I hope we’ll still meet, of course, but I imagine you’ll have much less freedom with term starting.” 

“We’ll still meet,” John says, leaning over Belle and kissing her deeply. “I will make it work, even if I have to grade papers in bed as soon as I make you come.”

Belle laughs, a loud, throaty sound that follows John out the door. Belle tries not to think of the warmth his words stirred in her. That life, go to work, come home to a man, and bask in the afterglow while he works in bed, is not for her no matter how much she wishes it were.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few housekeeping things about this little world: 1) I love Jackie Tyler, I really do. So while Jackie in this story isn't the best version of Jackie, it's not meant to be bashing either. 2) I've tweaked the timeline a bit. Pete died when Rose was a teenager, not an infant. 3) I'm so pleased to hear that people enjoyed the first chapter! 
> 
> Thanks for the reviews and the kudos, and I hope Chapter 2 is just as enjoyable!

Chapter 2

Doctor John Smith sits in his faculty office at King’s College, dreading the upcoming term. It’s his first day in the office and he’s gotten nearly everything unpacked. He would be finished, but the Dean of the college had stopped by to give him his teaching schedule; several classes of organic chemistry, which was perfectly acceptable, and one class of introductory chemistry, which was not. Apparently his yearlong sabbatical is not about to go unpunished.

Added to all of his start-of-term stress, John hasn’t seen Belle in almost two weeks. His need for her feels like an itch beneath his skin, but he hasn’t had time to fit in even an hour with her. He pulls out his cell phone and scans his calendar. If he rearranges a few things, he can see her for a few hours on Saturday night. 

He dials the agency before he can really consider it, and books the appointment, a bit surprised that Belle has an open appointment at the last minute. He even asks for an overnight, despite not really having the time for it.   
His next call is to his sister, Donna. 

“Hello, Spaceman,” she answers cheerily. He grimaces at the despised nickname.

“Hello Donna. Listen, I’m sorry but…”

“If you’re calling to say you’re not coming to dinner tomorrow, I’m going to murder you,” Donna hisses. John is glad that he’s physically out of Donna’s reach; the woman is a right terror when she’s angry.

“I’m so sorry, Donna, I’ve just got loads left to do before classes start.” He feels terrible for lying to his sister, but the desire to see Belle overrides the guilt. 

“Pippa and Fred will be so disappointed, they’ve been looking forward to this all week,” Donna says. The jab goes straight to his heart. He would do anything for his niece and nephew, anything at all, and Donna knows it.

“Low blow, Donna,” he grits out. “I tell you what, I’ll come round for lunch on Sunday. I’ll even take the whole day off and take them to the park for the afternoon, if you’ll just let me work Saturday night.”

“Fine. I already hate that you’re back to teaching,” she tells him. 

“Thanks, Donna. Gotta run.” 

John hangs up before Donna can lay anymore guilt on him. Now that he has a concrete time to see Belle, the knot of apprehension in his chest starts to ease. If he can make it to tomorrow night, all will be well.

#

Rose Tyler sighs as she looks at the tiny desk crammed into the corner of her tiny bedroom in the tiny estate flat she shares with her mother. On the desk, she’s laid out all the things she thinks she’ll need for her first term at university. A notebook, a datebook much like the one she uses for work, only pink instead of black, plenty of pens and highlighters, and the laptop she splurged on when she registered for classes. It’s pristine, a sleek silver thing that weighs barely more than a feather. It cost entirely too much, but Rose knows she needs one if she ever hopes to keep up.

Running through her mental checklist, Rose starts packing everything in her battered messenger bag, careful to zip the laptop into its protective case first. It’s too early to be packing up, two days before term starts, but she can’t help it. She needs something to do or she’ll go crazy. 

“Rose!” 

She jumps at the shout from her mother, Jackie, and then eases out of her room, closing the door firmly behind her. 

“What, mum?” she asks. 

“Where’s the tea?” Jackie, dressed in a ratty pink track suit, stands in the middle of their tiny kitchen, staring at the cupboards like she’s never seen them before. She probably hasn’t, not since Rose reorganized them a few months ago. 

“In the tin on the counter, mum. I’ll make it, I could murder a cuppa anyway.” 

“What ‘ave you been doing, shut up in that bedroom of yours all morning?” Jackie asks with her eyes narrowed. Rose sighs. Of all the days for her mother to choose to be lucid, instead of practically catatonic in front of the telly. 

“Making sure I have everything I need for school. Term starts Monday.” Rose puts the kettle on the stove and busies herself with preparing the tea. Jackie snorts.

“University. I don’t know why you need to go, you made it this far just fine. You should be working, not wasting time at university. It’s already giving you airs and graces,” Jackie says, disdain dripping from every word. Rose bites the inside of her cheek. “Next thing you know, you’re going to tell me you want to move off the estate.”

“Why is that a bad thing?” Rose shouts, slamming her hands onto the counter. “And I am working, which is more than can be said about you!”

Jackie blinks a few times. “Tea ready yet?”

Rose shakes her head, knowing better than to push. She finishes doctoring Jackie’s tea, doesn’t feel much like a cuppa anymore herself, and then retreats back to her room. Grabbing her mobile phone off the bedside table, another impossibly expensive splurge, she scrolls through her contacts until she finds the one she wants.

“Hey, Rosie!” Jack’s cheery voice brings a smile immediately to her face. He’s the only work friend she has who knows her real name, and about her real life. 

“Hey Jack. Fancy a run?” 

“Sure. Meet you at the park in half an hour?” Rose agrees and then toys with her contacts list. She scrolls by her boss’s name, sorely tempted to call and beg for an appointment or two today. Why she thought it was a good idea to take the night off, she can’t imagine. She’d hoped that John might call for an appointment, but she gathered he was too busy preparing, which Rose thought she would be as well. Really, she’s going half out of her mind with pent up energy. 

In the hallway, Rose touches her fingers to her lips, and then to her father’s picture. She slips out the front door without saying goodbye to her mother, who is back in her usual spot on the couch, in front of the telly, blank look in her eyes. 

Jack is already at the park entrance when Rose arrives, hopping from one foot to the other. Rose shakes her head, but can’t keep the smile from creeping onto her face.

“Rosie!” He envelopes her in a giant hug, lifting her off the ground, and presses a kiss to her cheek. 

“Ready?” Rose asks, once Jack sets her down. He nods and they fall into an easy jog to warm up.

“Got any fun appointments lined up for the weekend?” Jack asks. Rose shakes her head.

“No, I took the next two nights off to get ready for school. I shouldn’t have, I’m kicking myself for it now, but at the time it seemed like a good idea.”

“Don’t like being stuck in the flat?” Jack asks. 

“I hate it. Every time the phone rings….I can hardly stand listening to the messages. Buying the laptop set me back too, I should be using this weekend to make up the money.” The numbers in her bank account tumble through Rose’s head, along with the list of creditors to pay, bills to settle, and groceries to get. The only time she can truly turn off that part of her mind, leave the real Rose Tyler behind at the council estate, is when she gets to be Belle.

“Rose, you have to keep some of it. How are you ever going to build a life for yourself if you don’t?” 

“I can’t keep it, Jack. I mean, I do put a bit in a savings account, but not much. Dad’s debt just keeps snowballing, and with mum in front of the telly all day the electric is sky high. I never thought that making the kind of money we make would still leave me strapped at the end of the month.”

The words spill out before Rose can stop them. Jack is the only person she can tell these things to. Most of her mates don’t know what she does, and the ones that do don’t realize how bad it is at home. Jack is the one person who knows everything, and doesn’t judge or pity her for it. 

Rose’s mobile rings and she slows to a walk. Her boss’s number comes up and Rose thinks that maybe her sanity will be saved.

“Belle, John Smith called and booked an overnight tonight. I know it’s last minute and you were supposed to be off, but you said if he called…”

“I know, Trish, its fine. Perfect, really. Thanks.” Rose hangs up with a smile.

“Got a good appointment after all?” Jack asks with a lascivious grin that makes his clients weak in the knees.

“The best.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle and John have one last appointment before term starts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has read, commented, and left kudos so far! You have no idea how much I appreciate it. I hope you continue to love this fic!
> 
> Be warned, this chapter is smut. So much smut.

Chapter 3

Rose feels like a giddy schoolgirl as she heads home to prep for her overnight with John. Her heart beats wildly in her chest, and her core is already clenching in anticipation. She hasn’t felt this way in a long time.   
Rose showers, making sure all the appropriate body maintenance has held up, and then sets about making herself look the part. She leaves her hair down but doesn’t add much product, because John likes to run his hands through it, then applies make-up with a light hand. Some clients prefer the sex pot look, the stereotypical escort look, but others, like John, prefer a more natural face.

With every stroke of her make up brush, she feels Rose the estate chav fall away. In her place is the classy, desirable Belle. Once every trace of Rose has been hidden away, and Belle stares back at her in the mirror, she grabs her bag and heads for the hotel. 

In the lobby, Belle leaves her bag with the bellhop, knowing it will be waiting in the room when they arrive, and moves to the bar to meet John. He’s sitting apart from the other patrons, a tumbler of Scotch and a glass of white wine before him, as always. He lifts the tumbler to his lips and takes a tiny sip. Belle watches his adam’s apple bob gently as swallows, and it sets her blood simmering. 

“Waiting for someone?” she asks, coming to stand next to him. She sees the corner of his mouth turn up as he faces her.

“Not anymore,” he replies. He rises from his seat and leans in to kiss her. It’s not entirely chaste, there’s the barest hint of his tongue against her lips, and Belle resists the urge to deepen it. She can wait. Maybe.

“How are you?” she asks, sliding onto her seat and picking up her glass. She can’t help but smile as John watches her, taking in the way her lips press against the glass and the wine slides between them. His eyes flash dark, hungry. 

“A bit stressed, if I’m honest,” he says when she finally sets the glass down. He reaches out to snag her fingers with his, holding her hand loosely atop the bar. Belle smiles at the contact.

“Ready for start of term? To be Professor John Smith once again?” 

“I think so. I hope so.” Belle leans forward and brushes her lips softly against his. 

“For what it’s worth,” she whispers, her lips still ghosting against his. “I think your students will love you.”

She pulls back, and the desire swimming in his eyes nearly drowns her. She wants to climb into his lap and have him right in the middle of the hotel bar, sod the onlookers. 

Belle takes a deep breath, hoping to steady herself. She feels reckless, like she’s riding a runaway train. Her carefully cultivated professional detachment fades with every appointment John books. 

They continue to talk as they finish their drinks, and Belle works hard to calm herself. They discuss the impending publication of John’s latest book, and fundraising for his charity, Breathe Free. He tells her about his plans to spend the next day with his niece and nephew. Belle can’t help the warmth that spreads through her as she imagines him running after two children, playing the doting uncle. 

Finally, both their glasses are empty. John’s gaze never leaves hers as he stands and offers his hand.

“Shall we?”

Belle smiles.

#

Somehow, they manage to keep their hands to themselves in the lift. Belle follows John to the room and he holds the door open, allowing her to slip by him. She takes the opportunity to make sure her hip brushes his groin as she passes, and smiles at the way his eyes flutter shut. Then there are the usual particulars; John hands Belle an envelope thick with cash and goes to the en-suite for a shower, Belle counts the money and calls Trish with the all clear.

Instead of simply slipping off her knickers like she usually does, Belle changes into an expensive, luxurious lingerie set and then slips on a short, silk dressing gown, cinching it tight around her waist. Her heels stay on, and she perches on the edge of the settee, waiting for the water to stop running. 

By the time John is finished with his shower, Belle is practically vibrating with excitement. It feels like every muscle in her body is clenched in anticipation, and she’s liable to combust at any moment. She has a feeling that tonight’s first round won’t last long.

She stands in the middle of the room, toying with the sash at her waist, as John emerges from the en suite. He never covers himself with a towel, and Belle enjoys drinking in the sight of him. There’s a smattering of hair in the center of his chest, not thick but certainly enough to be manly. He’s a bit skinny, but muscular as well, like a runner. Belle’s eyes skitter across his body, drinking in the sight of him, until her gaze comes to rest on his cock, jutting proudly from the nest of hair at his pelvis. He’s so hard it looks painful, and Belle wants to take him in her mouth and kiss away the pain. 

“See something you like?” John asks, smirking. Belle resumes toying with the sash at her waist and winks at him, hoping to wrest back a least some control. 

“Do you?” she purrs. John stalks towards her reaching out for the hem of the dressing gown. He rubs the silk between his fingers and skates his fingertips up her thigh to her hip, where they meet lace instead of flesh. His pupils dilate until his eyes are black with want. 

“’S like unwrapping a present,” he murmurs. He dips a finger under the band at her thigh and leans in to kiss her. 

There’s no softness, no finesse in his kiss. His lips are hard and insistent against hers, and his tongue immediately begs entrance. It’s sloppy and deep and Belle can feel it sparking every nerve ending in her body. She hums happily, running her hands across his shoulders, his back, everywhere she can reach before dropping to cup the firm globes of his arse and pull him hard against her. John moans into her mouth and ruts against her, then pulls back. 

“Blimey, you’re gorgeous,” he says, breathing hard. He tugs impatiently at the sash, growling when it falls open to reveal the black lace. The bustier is cropped and mostly see-through, except for a few strategically placed flowers. The knickers are hip huggers, covering more of her than she usually allows. But John was right, it’s like unwrapping a present, and she wants it to feel that way. 

John traces the line of the bustier with his fingers, leaving gooseflesh in his wake, and then leans in and follows the same path with his lips. Belle’s breath hitches in her throat when his lips close around her nipple, the lace between them adding an unbearably arousing sensation. She squeezes her thighs together, desperate for a little release.

“John,” she breathes, clutching his shoulders. She can feel his lips curl into a smile against her skin. 

He draws himself to his full height, staring down at her with blazing eyes. Belle shudders against him. She wants him, in a visceral way that she’s never wanted anyone before. 

“John,” she whispers. “Fuck me.”

He growls, his chest rumbling against her breasts and making Belle bite her lip. He leans in for another kiss, taking her by the hips and pushing her against the wall. He takes her hands in his, sliding them up the wall until he can grip them with one hand above her head. His free hand slides down her arm, over her breast, and traces the curve of her hip until he reaches the waistband of her knickers. He doesn’t pause at the barrier, just dips his fingers inside until he’s tracing her slit. He circles her clit with one finger, groaning at how wet she is, just for him. 

Belle is shaking with want. Her hips jerk as John slides first one, then two fingers inside of her, pumping slowly. Her eyes flutter shut and she arches into him, her nipples brushing the coarse hair of his chest and sending sparks through her belly. She clenches around his fingers. 

“Fuck, Belle,” John gasps, his hand tightening around her wrist. 

“Inside,” she breathes against his lips. “I need you inside me. Now.” 

There’s some desperate fumbling as John yanks her knickers down and she sheathes him in a condom, and then he shoves her back into the wall, hitches one leg over his hip, and thrusts into her. Hard. 

Belle keens loudly, her head thumping back against the wall. He fills her perfectly, stretching her just short of painfully. 

“Good, so good,” he mutters into her hair. They both still for a moment, reveling in the sensation of him buried inside her, until Belle feels like she’s going to die without release. She tilts her hips and he slips deeper, making her gasp. 

“Please,” she begs. “Please John, please. Make me come.” 

She catches his earlobe between her teeth and tugs. He grunts and thrusts against her, then draws back slowly until he’s almost left her entirely. He waits until she whimpers and then thrusts home.

“Fuck!” Belle cries, driving her hand into his hair and gripping hard. The tug against his scalp nearly makes John come right then, but he takes a deep breath and pauses before thrusting again. He drives her, and himself, mad with firm, measured thrusts. Belle’s cries grow more desperate until she’s nearly sobbing, begging him to make her come. John knows that he’s close, can feel the tell-tale burning in the base of his spine.

He slips a hand between them and rubs hard at Belle’s clit. It only takes a moment before she’s coming, screaming and clenching around him in such a vice grip that he can’t hold back. He thrusts hard, once, twice, and then he’s coming too, groaning as they shudder against each other. 

Belle sags into the wall, her legs shaking. John disposes of the condom and then sweeps her into his arms, carrying her to the bed. She smiles up at him, tracing her fingers through the stubble on his cheeks. 

“How long until you’re ready for round two?” she asks. John tosses her onto the bed and then crawls towards her, nudging his shoulders beneath her knees. He nips at the inside of her thigh.

“How about right now?”

Belle gasps and curls her fingers into the duvet, thinking that it’s going to be a very good night indeed.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's here, the first day of classes! I hope you all enjoy! As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts!

Chapter 4

When Rose’s alarm blares on Monday morning, she wants to chuck it across the room. She’s barely gotten any sleep the last two nights, first because John spent Saturday night thoroughly fucking her in every way they could imagine, and second because she was too nervous and excited for classes to sleep last night. 

She hits the snooze button and spends the next ten minutes drowsing. Then she forces herself to get out of bed and start getting ready. She showers and carefully does her hair, not the way she does as Belle, but still nice. She dresses in jeans and a blue jumper that brings out the brown in her eyes. 

She glares at her contacts case for a moment before deciding that she can’t be bothered putting them in and slips on her glasses instead. She feels as though the black, wayfarer frames help balance out her strong jawline. Plus, they tie into the whole geek-chic trend. She may be an estate chav, but Rose still tries to be on trend when she can.

After double checking that her bag has everything she needs, she scans her class schedule. First up is Introduction to Chemistry, instructor to be determined. Why she thought it would be a good idea to take a class in her worst subject her very first term, she’ll never know, but she has to take her science credits eventually so she might as well get on with it.

She slips out of the flat as quietly as she can. Jackie’s still sleeping, and it wouldn’t do for Rose to wake her. She gets on the bus and scans her Oyster Card, thankful that she now qualifies for a student discount, and settles in for the ride to King’s College. 

Once off the bus, Rose stops at a café and splurges on a pastry and coffee. She kills a little time inside, watching people rush about, before she heads to class. She’s early, but it doesn’t matter. She’s determined to start off on the right foot. 

Rose chooses a seat in the middle of the lecture hall, not so far forward that she’ll be in the firing range if her professor is evil, but not so far back that she’s tempted to slack off either. She pulls out her laptop and fires it up, and goes about readying herself for class. The rest of the students start filing in and soon Rose is swallowed by a sea of her peers. 

Moments before class is set to start, the professor tumbles in. His arms are filled with papers and books, and he looks a bit mad, at least the bit of him she can see. His face is turned away from her, but his brown hair is rumpled like he’s been running his hands through it, and his jacket is a bit wrinkled. Rose frowns. Something about him strikes her as familiar.

He spills the burden in his arms onto the desk at the front of the room, stands up straight and sighs, then turns to face the room. 

Rose feels like the floor has dropped from beneath her feet. She knows that hair, and that skinny body. She spent all of Saturday night mapping it with her hands and her mouth. 

Standing at the front of the room is John Smith.

Rose feels a spike of panic and looks around the room, gauging how difficult it would be to make a run for it. All the seats around her are full, and leaving now would only call attention to herself. She might be able keep a low profile for the day, and drop the class before next session on Wednesday. She sinks lower into her seat and prays that he won’t notice her.

#

John sighs as he straightens after unloading the stack of books and papers in his arms. He’s running later than he’d like, but it couldn’t be helped. He really had more work to do over the weekend, but spending a night with Belle and a day with his niece and nephew had been worth the extra rush this morning. 

He glances at his new students briefly before turning to the board. He quickly scrawls the official class number and title, and beneath it “Dr. John Smith.” 

“Right!” He says, clapping his hands together once and turning back to the students. “I’m your professor, Dr. Smith. Pleased to meet you. I won’t normally call roll, but I want to at least attempt putting names with faces, so bear with me for the first week or two.”

John rifles through his papers for the class roster and starts calling off names, making note of each student who answers and placing a check next to their name.

“Rose Tyler?”

For a moment no one responds, and he wonders if the girl in question dropped the class over the weekend. He looks up, scanning the faces in the crowd, until he notes a girl with her arm just slightly raised. Her head is tilted down a bit, so he doesn’t get the full effect, but she’s pretty even at a glance; blonde hair, glasses, a wide, sensuous mouth. She looks up quickly to check that he’s seen her, and he notices the bags under her eyes. She’s exhausted. 

He makes a mark next to her name and moves to the next name on his list, even as something clicks in his mind. That mouth. He knows those lips. And those eyes. He snaps his head back up so fast his neck hurts.   
Belle stares back at him, her eyes wide and panicked and a little bit sad. She doesn’t look exactly like she does when they meet, but he knows it’s her. Dread sinks in his stomach like a stone. Belle, no Rose he reminds himself, closes her eyes and the spell is broken. He clears his throat and calls the next name.

“Bryan Watson?”

He finishes roll call and grabs the massive stack of papers from his desk. His eyes flicker to Rose. She looks positively miserable. He wants to pull her into his arms, to kiss the furrow between her brows, to love away the frown…blimey, he thinks, when did he get so saccharine? 

“Right, so this is Introduction to Chemistry. We’ll have lecture twice a week, and lab once a week. Your lab time will count for fifty percent of your grade, with the other fifty percent coming in the form of a midterm and a final exam.”

John continues to ramble, only half paying attention to what he’s saying. The rest of his focus is on Belle. Rose. Bloody hell, he can’t keep it straight. 

His first lecture is usually an easy one, requiring little actual participation from the students, but John doesn’t think he can talk for an entire hour this time. His eyes keep straying to Rose, and each time they do something about her distracts him. The first time, she’s looking directly at him and when their eyes meet, it takes his breath away. He stops talking mid-word. The second time, she’s staring at the floor and biting her lip, and he sucks in a breath as his cock twitches. His words trail off as he concentrates on not embarrassing himself with a hard on. God, even exhausted she’s bloody gorgeous. Visions of bending her over the desk flash through his mind, doing nothing to help his current predicament.

By the fourth time, it becomes clear he needs an excuse to stop talking, so he starts firing questions at the students. He’s so distracted by the way Rose’s hair curls against her temple, he doesn’t even hear their answers. John is desperate to talk to Rose, to hear what she’s thinking, to take her in his arms. He wishes the clock would move faster.

“Rose Tyler, what are the four states of matter?” The words are out of his mouth before he can think about it. He just wants to hear her speak, to assure himself that this is not a dream. Rose’s head whips up, her eyes wide and round. And are those tears? Oh God, he’s bollocksed it right up. 

“Sorry?” Rose stammers. John sighs and wishes he could take it back, but it’s too late now. 

“The four states of matter,” he says. He holds her gaze, trying to apologize with his eyes, but he doesn’t think it’s working.

“Um,” Rose starts, tucking a wisp of hair behind her ear. “Solid, liquid, gas…”

He waits for her to continue, but she’s stuck. In that moment the contrast between Rose and Belle is extreme. Belle is always cultured, confident, and while he’s certain she’s not a genius like himself, she has a way of making you think she is. Rose is bright, but unsure of herself, timid. John realizes that for all the time he’s spent with Belle, he doesn’t actually know her at all.

“Plasma,” he finishes for her, his voice rough. 

John moves on, firing question after question at the students. Miraculously, he survives to the end of the class, though the end comes a bit earlier than it should, and breathes a sigh of relief. 

“Miss Tyler, if you could wait a moment, I need to speak with you,” he says, as the students pack up their things. She looks like a deer caught in headlights, wild and terrified but frozen to the spot. 

Rose seems to remember herself a moment later, because she slings her bag over her shoulder and weaves her way out of the room before John can even think to stop her.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I definitely meant to post this chapter earlier! RL just got very busy. Hope you enjoy the chapter and I'd love to hear your thoughts!

Chapter 5

John stares blankly at the door that Rose disappeared through. He can’t chase her now without causing a scene, and that’s not what he wants. He does, however, need to speak with her. He has to apologize to her for making a right mess of things in class, for embarrassing her, for making her feel less than. 

He also needs to officially end their arrangement. He obviously can’t continue to see her now that she’s a student in his class, and the thought causes him a curious sense of loss. The idea of no longer being able to kiss the soft skin just behind her ear, or hold her in his arms as she shudders with release, no longer being able to make her laugh, it’s enough to leave him short of breath. He finds himself missing her already. 

As soon as the students have mostly cleared out, John hurries from the lecture theater, searching the crowd of bodies in the hallway for Rose. He finds no sign of her shining blonde hair. He darts outside to the quad, scanning the crowd. She’s not there. He tries to think of other places he could go to track her down, but again he’s struck by how little he really knows about her. He could find her class schedule in her student record, but that seems a bit stalker-like, even to him.

It occurs to him that he knows one sure way to get in touch with her. He can call the agency, book one last goodbye appointment. He doesn’t even have to sleep with her; he can just talk to her. Tell her what she means to him. Well, no, not that. Telling her how he feels about her will likely only make things harder. So he will just use the appointment to say goodbye and apologize. His memories of the previous weekend, the way her skin tasted, the sounds she made as she came, will have to sustain him.

John manages to wait until he gets back to his own flat to call the agency.

“I’d like to book an appointment with Ro..Belle du Jour, as soon as possible please,” he says.

“And have you been a client with us before, sir?” the pleasant voice on the other end of the phone asks. It’s the same voice he hears every time he calls for an appointment. 

“I have. John Smith.”

There’s the distant sound of clicking as the woman types something into the computer. John drums his fingers against his thigh as the seconds drag on. Usually the woman on the phone is able to book him an appointment very quickly.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Smith, but Ms. Du Jour is booked,” she finally says.

“For this week? Well what about next week?” John asks. He’d hoped to see her before their next class, but it if has to be after, he supposes he’s fine with that. 

“I’m sorry, sir, but Ms. Du Jour is booked for the foreseeable future.”

“What?” John sputters as dread sinks like a rock in the pit of his stomach. “What?” Belle has almost always had an available appointment for him, whenever he wanted it. He’s never had to wait more than a couple of days to see her. 

The line disconnects with a distinct click. John frowns at his phone. Belle…Rose…oh he doesn’t know what to call her now, couldn’t possibly be blacklisting him, could she? He knows that class didn’t go well, but certainly she’d be willing to hear him out?

Later that evening, Donna drops by for dinner. She’s left the kids with her husband Lee so she can drop off take away, knowing that in the stress of first classes John won’t cook for himself. While she’s dishing the food onto plates, John taps at her cell phone.

“Donna, can I use your mobile for a minute?”

“Why?” Donna asks, arching an eyebrow at him. “Yours not working?”

“Battery’s dead.”

“Oh fine, but hurry up. Food’ll get cold.”

John dials the number for Belle’s agency. “I’d like to book an appointment with one of your girls, Belle du Jour?”

“Certainly, sir. Your name?”

“James Noble.”

#

Clients who ask for the normal, “girl next door” look are some of Belle’s least favorite. In jeans and a flowy pink blouse, Belle feels less like Belle and more like Rose, and it completely defeats the purpose of having an alter ego. After her disaster of a chemistry class, she wants to put Rose far behind her and lose herself in Belle’s life. 

That’s hard to do when Rose’s face stares back at her from the mirror in the hotel room. Belle sits on the couch, one leg tucked beneath her, and tries to calm herself. She’s always a bit nervous before meeting a new client, but something about this one has her more nervous than usual. Perhaps because his name is James, fairly close to John, and she’s worried she’ll scream the wrong one when she comes (or pretends to). 

Watching John teach the class was a lesson in torture, and she still feels shame burning in her cheeks at not knowing the answer to his question. She’d been so caught off guard, so unbalanced over the idea of her two worlds colliding. That couldn’t be allowed to happen, so as soon as she was safely away from the classroom she’d called Trish and told her in no uncertain terms that she had no appointments available for John Smith. Not ever again.   
Saying those words felt like a knife in her heart, but she had to say them. 

Belle shakes her head and jumps to her feet, pacing the room. She wishes James would hurry up, she needs the distraction. She checks her minimal make-up and fluffs her hair in the mirror one last time, and jumps when a soft, timid knock sounds at the door. 

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Belle opens the door…and promptly tries to slam it again when she catches sight of John’s tousled brown hair. He sticks his hand inside the door and she’s barely able to catch it before it breaks his fingers. As it is the door slams into his hand and he yelps.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Belle hisses, opening the door fully but putting herself between John and the room. He shakes his hand, trying to ease the pain, and Belle tries not to wince at the angry red marks. 

“I’m sorry,” John says in a rush. “Rose, I’m so sorry and I just needed to see you and tell you…”

He looks so lost, like an overgrown puppy, and Belle can’t help but feel sorry for him. She stands aside, waiting for John to come in. He slips by her, his hip brushing hers, and she shudders with want. What is it about this man that makes her want him so badly? Not just in a physical way, though she does, but in all ways. She dreams of being on a grassy hill, his coat spread beneath them as a blanket while they watch the city teaming with life. She fantasizes about being in his arms as he waltzes her around the room. She imagines the feeling of warm contentment she’d feel seeing him smile as he plays with his niece and nephew. She wants all of that with him, but it’s nothing more than a fantasy, even more unreachable now.

Belle gets a flannel from the en suite and fills it with ice. She takes his hand and gently holds the cool bundle to his red skin. The marks are already purpling around the edges. 

“I’m so sorry, Rose,” John whispers, staring down at their hands. 

“For what?”

“For calling on you in class. I didn’t mean to, I’d just been thinking about how I needed to know what you were thinking and I needed to hear your voice. Next thing I knew it just slipped out.”

“John…I can’t have you as my client anymore,” Rose says.

“I know. Did you tell them not to book appointments for me anymore?” John’s eyes shine with wounded pride and Rose smiles a bit.

“Yeah.”

“Well, that’s why I tried to make this appointment. I needed to be sure we were on the same page,” he says. Rose nods.

“We are. Can’t be sleeping with your student.”

“Well, good.” Johns falls silent. Rose stares up at him, trying to memorize what his face looks like up close. She’ll only see him from a distance now.

Her phone rings and Rose jumps, realizing that she never called with the all clear. She leaves John holding the ice and tells Trish that everything is fine. Then she sits down on the edge of the bed. 

It’s a terrible idea, and Rose knows it, but she can’t bear the thought of not having one more night with John Smith. Her calendar is clear, the room is booked; why shouldn’t she get a proper goodbye with her favorite client?

“Once more, for old times’ sake?” 

John stares at her for a long moment, and Rose braces herself for rejection. His eyes roam her face and she wonders if he’s memorizing her like she did him. After what feels like an eternity, John drops the flannel and ice into the en-suite sink and comes to stand before Rose.

He sinks to his knees before her, his hands spanning her thighs. 

“Once more,” he murmurs. 

Then he kisses her. This isn’t the same frenzied, hungry kiss she usually shares with John. It’s reverent; slow and deep and so full of sorrow that it brings tears to Rose’s eyes. She cups his face in her hands, running her fingers over the stubble on his cheek and tracing the line of his jaw. 

John skates his hands up her thighs to her hips. His hands settle on her waist and he pushes her back, following her with his body until they’re both stretched out on the bed. 

Rose watches him as John trails a fingernail over the sliver of exposed skin between her jeans and the hem of her top. She shivers and the burning intensity in his eyes chases away the giggle that bubbles in her throat. 

He scoots down, pressing a kiss to her stomach, just above the button on her jeans, and then flicks the button open and pulls her zip down. 

They undress each other slowly and without speaking, tracing every inch of exposed skin with their lips, committing the sight, feel, and taste of each other to memory. When they’re both bare and begging for release, John slides inside Rose and holds himself there, knowing this is the last time he’ll feel her wet heat clenched around him.   
Rose lifts her hips, urging him on, and he obliges. They move against each other, trying to draw out the pleasure, until she comes, gasping beneath him, and he follows a moment later.   
John gathers her to his chest and presses a kiss to her hair. 

“I can’t stay,” he says. 

His words strike her like a blow to the chest, forcing all the air from her lungs. No matter what she’s feeling, thing is just a fantasy, the same as it’s always been. He’s not her boyfriend, no matter how content she feels wrapped in his arms, or how her stomach turns somersaults when he offers her that goofy grin.

“Okay,” Rose whispers. She places a gentle kiss over his heart, hoping that she’s carved out a tiny place there, the same way he has in hers. 

“You should, though,” John continues. “Take a nap, rest. You looked exhausted in class today.”

Rose nods against his chest, but can’t bring herself to speak. There’s a lump in her throat and a burning in her eyes. John slips out from beneath her and dresses in silence. Rose stays where she is, taking advantage of her last opportunity to watch him unreservedly. 

“Goodbye, Belle,” John whispers. He presses a kiss to her forehead and hurries from the room. The moment the door clicks shut behind him, Rose lets the tears fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My lovely beta asked whether or not it was deliberate that I didn't mention a condom during the sex in this chapter. I promise you, it was not. Once she pointed it out, I debated adding mention of it, but I couldn't make it work without disrupting the scene. So, rest assured that in my mind John and Rose are still practicing safe sex, and an unplanned pregnancy is NOT in the cards.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO SORRY this chapter took so long. I know I've used this excuse before, but real life has been a bear lately. And by the time I got it together enough to write the chapter, my beta was also incredibly busy. So it took us a while to get everything set. But I'm working on getting a few chapters ahead so that this (hopefully) won't happen again. 
> 
> Enjoy the chapter! As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts!

Chapter 6

Rose skips her next chemistry class. She isn’t sure she can face John again, not feeling about him the way that she does. Instead, she throws herself into her other classes, quickly finding that she genuinely loves being back in school. Work fills her remaining spare time, keeping her away from her flat and Jackie, and everything else that she doesn’t want to think about. 

Most of her appointments this week are filled with regular clients, which Belle feels is a bit of a safety net during her emotional upheaval. There are too many unknowns with new clients, and the added stress would have made a perfect recipe for a breakdown. With her regular clients, Belle can relax, and have fun. Especially when her clients take her to swanky events, like the awards ceremony she’s currently attending. 

Most people don’t realize it, but at events like this, half of the “plus ones” in attendance are hired to be there. She sees many other escorts she knows in the room, including Jack. 

“Don’t you look amazing?” Jack says, flicking his eyes over her royal blue, floor length gown. He leans in to kiss her cheek.

“Thanks. Having fun?” Belle asks. She holds a flute of champagne in her hand, but she doesn’t drink it. She only ever broke her no drinking rule with John. Belle shakes her head. She can’t think about John tonight. 

“More than you, I imagine,” Jack says, and Belle’s eyes snap to his. 

“What do you mean?”

“I can see you from my seat. You’ve looked positively miserable all night. Maybe not to just anyone, but I know you and I know you’re miserable. What’s wrong?” Jack asks. Belle chews on her thumbnail, a distinctly Rose trait that she tries not to indulge in as Belle. 

“Nothing, I’m just stressed.” Belle looks back at her assigned table. Her client is still deep in conversation with his friends, oblivious to her whereabouts. He’s a good client; kind and generous, he doesn’t require that she stick to his side all evening, and he’s a decent lover. 

“He okay?” Jack asks, catching her look.

“Yeah, I’m just checking. Wouldn’t do to leave my client completely unattended, what kind of customer service is that?” Jack smiles at her, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Seriously Belle, talk to me. You look wrecked.” Belle snorts and Jack rolls his eyes.

“Remember that client I took on at the last minute the other day, while we were running?” Jack nods and Belle takes a deep breath. “He’s my professor at Uni. I didn’t know it until classes started, but it’s…complicating things. And they were already a bit complicated to begin with.”

“You like him. More than an escort should like her client,” Jack says, getting to the heart of the matter as usual. 

“I’m trying not to!” she cries, and then glances hastily around to make sure no one noticed her outburst. One of the key rules for an escort is never to cause a scene. Don’t stand out, blend in. She takes a shuddering breath. “I’m trying so hard not to feel anything for him, but it’s not working.”

“Oh sweetheart,” Jacks sighs, not unkindly. He reaches out to squeeze Belle’s hand. “Many an escort has fallen into the same trap.”

“There’s too much at stake here, Jack. We both have so much to lose and part of me wants to throw it out the bloody window.”

“You won’t, though. I know you, Belle. You’re strong. You can handle it without making a mess of things.” 

Belle nods, glancing back at her client. He’s removed himself from his conversation and is scanning the crowd for her. She catches his eye with a tiny wave and smiles. 

“Thanks Jack. Gotta go.” She squeezes his hand and dashes away, hoping he’s right. 

#

Rose finally decides she can’t avoid John, or his class, any longer. She can’t risk falling behind, so after skipping one session, she goes back. She tries to time her entrance perfectly, early enough that she won’t draw attention to herself for being the last one in, but late enough that John can’t talk to her. Not that he will, he might ignore her completely. 

What she doesn’t think about is that John will be attempting the same thing, and that they will arrive at exactly the same moment. 

When she realizes that he’s staring at his feet and hasn’t seen her yet, Rose nearly does a runner. But he looks up then, his jaw dropping and his eyes going a bit wide. He stops just outside the lecture theater, staring at her. 

“Rose…” he breathes.

“Hi,” she says, clearing her throat when her words come out in a whisper. “Um, sorry I missed class last week.”

“No…no problem. I thought maybe…but you were still on the register so…”

They both fall silent. John looks tired and his suit is rumpled, like maybe he slept in his office. Rose wants to run her fingers through his wild hair, or just hug him. She takes a step forward and wants to cry when John scurries through the door. Sighing, she follows and quickly takes a seat a few rows back.

She tries to take meticulous notes, but she can’t stop her mind from wandering as she watches the manic way he moves, jumping and running about the room as he lectures, his handwriting just as frantic as he is. Some might think him insane, but to Rose it’s endearing. By the end of the lecture, she realizes that she didn’t actually hear a word he said, and she might as well have missed a second class. 

Rose can feel John’s eyes on her as she joins the queue of students pouring out into the halls. She risks a glance back, and nearly trips at the dark, hungry look in his gaze. She shivers, knowing exactly what that look can mean, and then hurries out the door. 

It’s going to be a long term. 

#

Rose walks into the flat, moody and tired and a little turned on after watching John teach. She wants nothing more than to run a bath, get herself off in the warm water, and fall into bed for the night. Instead, she’s greeted by the incessant ringing of the phone.

“Rose, would you answer that bloody phone!” Jackie shrieks from the couch. She turns the volume on the telly up to drown it out and Rose rolls her eyes. It’s probably been ringing all day, and Jackie could have answered it if it bothered her that much. Instead, Rose lets it go to the answering machine and swipes the stack of mail off the table.

“This is an attempt to collect a debt…”

Rose has heard the start of messages like it so many times, she can nearly quote the rest. She tunes it out and flicks through the envelopes, many stamped with “PAST DUE” in bright red. She takes the most pressing bills and lays them in a stack on the kitchen table. The ones that can be put off a little longer go in a basket on top of the fridge. 

The bills are paid as quickly as Rose can stuff cash into the envelopes. She doesn’t like to dwell on it more than she has to, and she’s doing the best she can to pay back her father’s debts quickly. Even a high class escort can only earn so much money, and her father had so much debt. She’s been able to have some of it forgiven, but not enough, especially since Jackie has given up on actually living her life.

Rose’s mobile rings just as she’s preparing to run a bath, and she groans when Mickey’s name pops up on the screen. Mickey has been in her life forever but, like all her relationships, it’s complicated with him, and she doesn’t want to deal with it. She lets the call go to voicemail and starts her bath.

It rings again. Rose nearly chucks the phone out the window.

“What, Micks?” she answers. 

“Rose!” She can hear the noise of a crowd in the background, and a slight slur in his voice when Mickey says her name. She figures he must be down at the pub, watching the football match. “Come watch the match!”  
Rose snorts. She hates football, and Mickey knows it.

“I have to work,” she lies. 

“You’re always working. We haven’t seen you in forever, babe, and everyone’s here. Come with us.” Rose sighs. She does miss her friends, but she also really wanted a night alone. She can still feel the buzz of arousal under her skin, and it sets her on edge. The last place she wants to be is a loud, crowded pub. 

“I can’t, Mickey.” The line is silent for a moment, and Rose braces herself. 

“What if I paid you?” Mickey says, and Rose can hear the sneer in his voice. “Then maybe we could get some time with you like the rest of London.”

“You couldn’t afford me,” Rose hisses, and then hangs up. He doesn’t know it, but Mickey just made Rose’s decision not to see her friends that much easier. 

Turning off her phone, Rose continues preparing her bath. She adds some bath salts to the water, and a few drops of essential oil, and then just enough bubble bath to cover the surface. Steam fills the tiny room and Rose can feel some of her tension draining away. 

She lets her head fall back against the bath pillow and shuts her eyes. Unbidden, John’s face fills her mind; the goofy smile he gets when he feels he’s made a particularly genius point, the sparkle in his eyes when a student answers one of his questions. Rose feels a smile creeping its way across her face. Blimey, she feels pathetic. 

The morning lecture replays itself in her mind and Rose feels arousal building again, a fluttering in the pit of her stomach. Her nipples tighten and Rose bites her lip, debating what to do.

Finally, she gives in, skimming her hands over her stomach, and then up to toy with her nipples. She circles them lightly with her fingernails, shivering as they pucker further, and then pinches each one, hard. The hint of pain sends a jolt straight to her core, making her hips jump. 

Her thoughts take a different turn, replaying one of her many nights with John. He was more intense than usual that night, a little wild and unbridled. There had been a look in his eyes, a bit of hysteria, that thrilled her.   
As Rose remembers the way he kissed her, she skates one hand below the water. She digs her fingers into her hip bone, moaning at the bite of her fingernails, remembering the way John had left red marks beneath his grip. 

She circles her clit with a fingertip before plunging two fingers inside herself. John had fucked her so thoroughly that night she could barely walk when she left the hotel, and she sets as punishing a pace as she can. She keens as her orgasm builds, wishing it was John inside of her. 

Finally she shatters, her orgasm rushing through her, making her gasp and shiver. The water is cold, so Rose turns the faucet on, waiting until she’s warm again to turn it off. Her muscles feel like jelly, and she’s a bit worried she’ll fall asleep in the bath, but she can’t be bothered to care.

As she soaks, the sated feeling is replaced by a cold loneliness that’s worse than before. She might have taken the edge off, but now John is at the forefront of her thoughts. She wishes he were with her.

Angry with herself for falling for him and with the world for being so cruel, Rose climbs out of the bath and readies herself for bed. Then she falls into a restless sleep, dreaming of what she can’t have.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friendly warning, this chapter introduces a sick child. He has a chronic illness that is very serious, but at no point in this fic will his life be in jeopardy. It's mostly background information on a secondary character, but in case any of you are sensitive to ill children, I thought I'd throw out a warning. 
> 
> Enjoy! As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts!

Chapter 7

It takes everything John has to make it through his lecture. In the month since finding out Rose was in his class, he’s tried everything to stay away. He never addresses her directly, he barely looks at her, and still he dreams of her nearly every night. Not just her body, though he has plenty of dreams like that, but her companionship, the way she smiled at him, the way she was truly interested in his thoughts. Her wit. He misses just being with her, and seeing her so close, but so out of reach is physically painful.

By some miracle he finishes the lecture without making a fool of himself. Rose is in the middle of the room, six rows back, seven seats in, and as the students rise to leave he can’t help but watch her. She’s biting her lip, which nearly kills him, and scribbling down a few last minute notes. John allows himself the luxury of looking at her, drinking her in. 

He doesn’t notice when she closes her notebook and stands to leave. Suddenly her eyes meet his and John wants nothing more than to take her in his arms and never let go. Her eyes go a little wide and she licks her bottom lip. He startles when he hears himself groan. Time to go. 

John slips from the room, his bag held conveniently in front of his growing hard-on, barely able to believe that she can turn him on so easily. It was never like that with Reinette. 

He slumps into the chair in his office, shifting uncomfortably. He has a department meeting in ten minutes, and there’s little hope that he can get rid of his…problem by then. He shouldn’t, he knows he shouldn’t, but he finds himself locking the door anyway.

John settles down, slumping in the seat and undoing his trousers. He reaches inside to stroke himself, imagining Rose. He imagines that she pokes her head in the door, wanting to ask him a question. He beckons her in and she closes the door behind her, a wicked glint in her eye. She licks her lip like she did in class, and stalks across the room. He expects her to take a seat in the other chair, with his desk between them, but instead she comes to stand directly in front of him. She hops up, settling herself on the desk, and runs her foot up his calf.

John hisses as he imagines Rose kicking off her shoes and teasing him with her foot. In his mind, she hooks her feet around the arms of his chair, pulling him closer. His hands settle on her knees, gently pushing her legs apart. 

His hand clenches around his painfully hard cock, sliding up and down faster as he gasps for breath. John lets his head fall back, remembering the gravelly sound of Rose’s voice telling him to hurry up and fuck her. She begs for him to be inside her. 

John feels the burning in the base of his spine, a sure sign he’s about to come. He fumbles to grab a tissue, and barely holds back a moan as his orgasm races through him. He thrusts into his hand, wishing for all the world he was thrusting into Rose’s wet heat instead. 

He doesn’t feel sated as he sits, catching his breath and trying to pull himself together before his meeting. Instead he feels empty, like he’s missing a vital piece of himself. 

John snorts, and pushes the maudlin thoughts from his head. He isn’t some green schoolboy, pining after a girl. He’ll survive a little heartache.

#

“Spaceman!” John grunts as his niece and nephew both barrel into his knees. Since catching onto Donna’s nickname for him, they’ve ceased calling him Uncle John at all. He doesn’t mind though, they can do anything they want as far as he’s concerned.

Pippa pulls away first, her cheeks bright pink and her hair in disarray. She’s tall and reedy like her father, with her mother’s bright ginger hair. At ten, she’s already got a face that could grace magazine covers, and John dreads the day boys realize how gorgeous she is. 

“Have you been climbing trees again, Pippa?” John asks. She nods enthusiastically. 

“I found the perfect place for us to build the tree house! Come on, I’ll show you!” She grabs at his hand and pulls. 

“Gimme a moment, yeah? Let me say hello to Fred and your Mum.” John leans down to the eight year old still hugging him and kisses his forehead, the extra salty sweat clinging to his lips. John discretely wipes his hand over his mouth. 

Fred is small for his age, fragile looking, with hair that tends towards dark auburn. He’s bright and eager to learn, listening to John’s every word. 

“How are you today, Fred?” John asks. 

“Good! Mummy got me a book about space! She said you could teach me all about it because your head is in the clouds!” Just the scamper from the kitchen to the front hall, and the excitement over a book, has Fred’s chest heaving. John ruffles his hair. 

“Well, I can certainly try. Why don’t you go sit and read for a bit, and bring me your questions after dinner?” Fred trots off, moving a little slower than before. John watches him settle on the sofa with a book nearly as big as he is, and then wanders into the kitchen.

Donna stands at the counter, chopping vegetables and tossing them into a bowl. John snags a piece of broccoli and pops it into his mouth before dropping into a seat at the small kitchen table. 

“Surprised you’re not already drawing up building plans for Pippa’s tree house,” Donna says. John shrugs. 

“Not inspired today,” he says. “Fred doing okay?”

“He’s fine. We started him on a new treatment yesterday, the doctor’s think it will be helpful.”

“Name?”

“It’s Hypertonic saline, he uses his nebulizer for it.” John nods, making note of the procedure. He’ll be researching it as soon as he gets back to his flat. 

They’re both silent for a few minutes while Donna puts the food in the oven. Then she turns, leaning up against the counter, and studies him. John is far away, dreaming about domestics like this with Rose. 

“Okay, what the bloody hell is wrong with you?” Donna asks, folding her arms over her chest. John looks up at her, dismayed at being read so easily.

“Nothing! I’m just…knackered.”

“Oh bollocks. That’s a lie. I haven’t seen you this wrecked since….you know, I don’t think you moped this much even when Reinette left you!” John groans and claps his hands over his face.

“Can we not discuss my ex-wife please?” 

“Only if you tell me what’s wrong.” John sighs. He knows it’s no use, Donna will get the story out of him one way or another. What to tell her, though? He certainly can’t tell her that Rose is an escort. 

“There’s a girl…woman.”

“I should’ve known,” Donna teases. John glares.

“Do you want me to continue or not?” She waves her hand at him to go on. “I was seeing her, nothing serious mind you, before the term started. I really fancied her, too. Then, on the first day of term, guess who appeared in my class?”

“Oh no,” Donna groaned. 

“Oh yes. She’s one of my students. We put an end to it right then, haven’t seen each other outside of appropriate student-professor interactions since, but…” 

“But you still fancy her.”

“A lot. I miss her, every day. I didn’t realize how strongly I felt about her until I couldn’t see her anymore. And I feel awful because I’m not being a good teacher to her. I can barely look at her when I’m teaching. I just want to…talk to her, instead I have to avoid her.”

“You’re such a dumbo,” Donna says, without malice. “John, you don’t have to work so hard to avoid her. I’m sure it’s difficult, but she won’t be your student forever. Just...change the way you interact with her. Instead of treating her like forbidden fruit, treat this as a chance to get to know her better, without the rest of it to muck it up.” 

“I don’t know that I can, Donna. Every time I look at her, I want her.” Donna grimaces at the mention of her brother’s sex life, but John presses on. “I don’t know how to turn that desire off.”

“You’re a grown man, John, you can keep it in your pants. And the more you allow yourself to interact with her without also ripping her clothes off, the easier it will get.”

John nods, but he doesn’t believe that could possibly be true.

“Go on, Spaceman, go play with my little monsters until dinner is ready.”

#

The next class, John makes a conscious effort to do as Donna suggested. He allows himself to look at Rose a little more, just as he would any other student. It’s not easy, but it’s also not as excruciating as trying to avoid looking at her either. She looks tired, not as put together as he’s used to seeing her. He wonders how her work is affecting her school. 

He’s surprised to find that it’s actually easier to teach when he isn’t so preoccupied with not looking at Rose. The class flies by, and before he knows it students are filing out of the room. Rose hangs back, biting her lip and hovering near the door. 

“Rose?” John asks, unable to help himself. She looks so unsure and vulnerable.

“Um, I had a question but…” she shrugs without finishing the statement. John knows what she would have said though, and guilt cuts through him. She should be able to ask her professor about content. He sighs and rubs his eyes as he realizes how thoroughly he has failed her. 

“Never feel like you can’t ask me questions, Rose. Please. I’m sorry I ever gave you that impression,” John says, beckoning her closer. She edges forward, clearly still unsure, but offers him a little smile.

“It’s not just you,” she assures him. 

“So,” John says, after a moment of getting lost in her eyes. “What can I help you with?”

Rose mentions a few places she got stuck last class, and John spends the next twenty minutes talking it through with her. They stand close together as he scribbles a more thorough explanation on some scrap paper; not so close that it’s inappropriate, just close enough for him to smell the lavender soap she uses. Instead of being a painful reminder, John finds that being close to her is nice. He can bask in it without torturing himself. 

Finally, he sees that light go on in her eyes and knows she’s figured it out. She’s terribly bright, even if it takes her a little more individualized attention to really grasp the concept. She repeats what she’s learned, and John wants to sweep her into his arms. 

“Brilliant. You’ve got it,” he says. Rose straightens, her smile a little brighter.

“Thanks. I’ve been struggling with it.” She tucks a stray bit of hair behind her ears and smiles up at him. “I better be off. Tight schedule.”

She starts to walk away, and John flounders for something to keep her there. He isn’t ready to let her go just yet. 

“I’m proud of us,” he says as she’s halfway out the door. She stops and turns back to him, but doesn’t come closer. 

“Oh?”

“Yes. We handled this well, nothing awkward about it. Maybe we can interact like adults from now on?” John winces, realizing how badly she could take his words. She seems to understand him, though, because she just smiles and nods.

“I’d like that, Professor Smith.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm prepared for people to not like the second half of this chapter. I really am. I didn't like writing it. But, it has to happen.

Chapter 8

After Donna’s talk with John, things get much better. He still misses Rose, incredibly so, but it gets easier to have her in class. She works diligently, paying close attention at every lecture, but John can see that she’s still struggling with the content. If they were still seeing each other, he could give her individualized lessons. If they were still seeing each other, he’d make sure that she slept. The bags under her eyes tell him that she’s working much too hard, but her smile is still bright as ever. 

Class ends and the students file out. Rose is still in her seat, scribbling and erasing notes on her page. She doesn’t even seem to realize that the other students have gone. John packs up his things, waiting to see if she’ll finish up, but she continues to assault the page and mutter to herself. 

“Rose?” John asks, coming up the aisle and edging down the row towards her seat. She jumps and looks up at him, then around at all the empty seats. “All right?”

“Yeah, sorry. I just…I’m a bit stuck.”

John sits down beside her, peering at her notes. She’s erased the writing so many times the page is dark grey, and it’s difficult to make out her notes. 

“What are you stuck on?” John breathes in while he waits for her answer, closing his eyes and reveling in the scent of her. Small pleasures. 

“Molarity and molality. I keep getting them mixed.”

“Easy thing to do,” John assures her. The number of times he’s seen a student say one when they mean the other is astounding. “Do you have a mo? I can go over it with you, if you want. We could even…make it a regular thing. Like…a private tutor. If you like.”

John can’t believe he’s suggested it; it’s a spectacularly bad idea. But he hopes she says yes. 

“All right,” Rose says, smiling shyly. She tucks a piece of stray hair behind her ear and John barely resists reaching out to trace her jaw. 

For the next half an hour, they work through the material he covered that class, and the class before. John is delighted by how quickly Rose catches on to everything with a little personalized attention. 

As they work, they drift closer together. John stretches his arm across the back of Rose’s seat so he can get a better look at her work, which makes his fingers occasionally brush against Rose’s shoulder. Rose tangles her fingers in his as they trade her pencil back and forth. John starts leaning in much closer than he needs to when he speaks, just so her can feel the heat from her skin. 

He says something that makes her laugh. He isn’t even certain what he says, he’s not paying attention to his words, and the sound is magical. She’s doubled up giggling, and her hand lands high on his thigh. John tenses beneath her fingers and she sucks in a breath, choking on her laughter. They both freeze for a long moment before Rose carefully removes her hand. 

“I…I’m sorry,” Rose stammers. They ease away from each other, careful not to touch.

“Quite alright,” John says, clearing his throat. He eases out of the seat and starts back towards the front of the room. “I think you’ve got it. Same time next week?”

Rose chews on her lip as she gathers her things and follows him, headed for the door. 

“Do you really think this is such a good idea? I’m sure I could hire someone to tutor me, if it came to that,” Rose says. John doesn’t miss her wince when she mentions hiring someone. He steps towards her, invading her personal space a bit and touching her arm lightly.

“Rose, it’s fine. Mistakes happen, especially when one has the…history that we do. I want to tutor you. Let me, please?” Rose looks up at him through her lashes and he wants so badly to kiss her, but he knows that if he does it will ruin everything. 

“Okay. Same time next week, and I promise to keep my hands to myself.”

“Deal.” 

John ignores the spark that zings through him when they shake on it.

#

Belle sighs as she curls the last few strands of her hair. She’s meeting with a new client tonight, and while the idea usually thrills her, she’s too tired to get excited. Not to mention she still has revising to do after their appointment. 

“At least you’re getting a fancy dinner out of it,” Belle mutters to herself. Sometimes clients just want to get straight to the fucking, others want to pretend that their appointment is a real date, like they’d have with any other woman. This client wants to pretend; he wants to wine and dine her, seduce her. He said he didn’t want it to feel too easy, he wanted to earn it, which is sort of the antithesis of hiring an escort, but Belle isn’t going to complain. 

She gets a taxi to the restaurant, arriving precisely at the time her client specified. It’s a swanky place decorated in rich reds and blacks, with dim lighting. The kind of place people go to have affairs. 

Her client is waiting on the sidewalk for her. He’s attractive, in a fake sort of way; dark brown hair a little too perfectly coiffed, teeth that have certainly been veneered and bleached, a dimple in his left cheek. His suit is well tailored and clearly expensive. He looks a bit familiar, but Belle can’t place why.

“Belle?” He asks, holding out a hand for her. Belle turns her most charming smile on him.

“Matthew, yes?” 

“Yes. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“You as well.” Matthew lifts her hand and places a lingering kiss at her knuckles. After a moment he straightens and offers her his arm. “Shall we?” 

He leads her into the restaurant, to a corner booth shielded from the view of most of the other diners. He waits for her to settle herself, and then slides in beside her. Belle shifts, feeling a bit trapped, but she shakes it off.

“First things first,” Matthew says. He hands her an envelope and his business card. She doesn’t count the money, but she does read the card, still trying to place why he’s familiar to her. Matthew Bellamy. With a sick feeling in her stomach, Belle realizes just who he is; the husband of none other than Reinette Poisson. John’s ex-wife.

Shaking off her unease, Belle slips the envelope and card into her purse and sends an “all-clear” text. She’s a professional, and he has paid for her services. It doesn’t really matter whose husband he is. 

“This is a lovely restaurant,” Belle says as she turns to face Matthew a little more fully. She hates sitting side by side, it makes it nearly impossible to make eye contact without turning herself around. 

“Thank you, I hoped you’d like it. Have you been here before?” 

“No,” Belle shakes her head. “I’m excited to try it.”

They continue talking as the waiter brings wine, which she doesn’t touch. Matthew orders for her, which makes her want to roll her eyes, but it’s his experience, not hers. As they talk, Matthew’s hands start to wander. First, he trails his fingers across her cheek, dragging his thumb over her bottom lip. She flicks her tongue out to tease him and he grins. A little while later, his hand drops to her knee. 

As they talk, his hand creeps incrementally higher on her leg. He tells her about his business, his love of fine culture, and what an ice cold bitch his wife is. Belle doesn’t enjoy being reminded that she’s helping men cheat on their wives, but it comes with the territory. Besides, she gets an evil sort of satisfaction from knowing that karma is catching up to Reinette. 

He nudges her legs apart as his hand slides further up, his pinky brushing the lace of her knickers. Belle nearly chokes on the chicken he ordered for her. 

Matthew stops eating entirely, leaning in to suck at her neck.

“No marks,” Belle says. Part of her wants to stop him, they’re likely to attract too much attention if he actually tries to finger fuck her in the restaurant, but she doesn’t want to spoil his appointment either. 

“Bloody hell you’re gorgeous.” Matthew nips at her collar bone and wiggles his fingers under the waistband of her knickers. “My wife would never let me do this to her, not here, not like this.” He pushes a finger inside her and Belle gasps, slouching down a bit so that she’s more comfortable. 

“Matthew,” she starts. He interrupts. 

“Tell me you want me. Tell me you want me right now.” He kisses Belle full on the mouth before she can answer, while his fingers work to get her off. He’s not lacking in skill, and Belle doesn’t find it hard to act aroused, even though the entire situation feels a bit wrong. Most clients avoid mentioning their partners, and to be compared so blatantly makes Belle a bit uncomfortable. 

“Tell me,” he asks again, pulling away from her lips. He trails kisses down her throat, across the bodice of her dress, rooting around for her nipple. 

Belle has to think fast. Their booth is mostly secluded, but some patrons can see them and they’re already attracting attention. She does not want to get arrested.

“Loo,” she gasps as he curls his fingers inside of her. He pulls back.

“What?”

“I want you. Now. Meet me at the loo in three minutes.” She pushes past him before he can say anything and hurries to the restroom. 

He meets her there decidedly less than three minutes later and bends her over the counter, watching himself in the mirror as he fucks her. All the while talking about how his wife is never so adventurous, never so free and open, never so passionate. Afterwards, he pays the bill and bundles her into his car. She sucks him off in the car on the way to the hotel, and once in the suite he fucks her on every surface he can think of.   
Instead of wearing him out, each tumble seems to energize him. Belle is thoroughly spent when their appointment finally comes to an end, and she’s never been so glad to call time. She wants a shower to scrub away the remnants of him, and to sleep. Unfortunately, she has to get her revising done. She’s looking at another two hours, at least, and it’s already half one in the morning. 

“Belle, tonight was truly…magnificent,” Matthew says, once again taking her hand and pressing a kiss to her knuckles. 

“Glad to hear it,” Belle says, wishing he wouldn’t prolong the goodbye. He kisses her on the mouth and Belle smiles tightly at him when he pulls away. “If you’d ever like to book another appointment, call the agency. You have the number?”

“Oh yes,” he assures her. 

She watches him go and hopes he won’t call for her again.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gah, you all deserve so much better than my sporadic updates, but I'm SO thankful for each one of you who has stuck with this story even though I don't update on anything close to resembling a regular schedule.

Chapter 9

Rose is running late. She hates running late, but she’d turned her alarm off in her sleep and now she’s scrambling to catch up. She rubs hard at her eyes as she shoves her laptop and schoolwork into her bag, desperate to feel more awake. She’s had three appointments this week, two of which were overnights. Between that and revising enough to stay on top of her classes, Rose is barely managing more than three or four hours of sleep. She’s already cut way back on clients, and she can’t afford to cut anymore. 

“Rose, I need fifty pounds.” Jackie shuffles into Rose’s bedroom, chewing on her thumb. She looks a bit put-together; denim trousers and a flowy blouse rather than jim-jams and a dressing gown. 

“For what?” Rose asks. She stands up to face her mother head on, hands on her hips. She’s going to be hopelessly late now, but if she doesn’t listen her mother will likely pull apart the flat until she finds a stash of money. 

“I saw an advert for a…specialist to help me get in touch with your dad.” Rose closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. 

“No.”

“It’s your dad, Rose! I need to talk to him! She can help!”

“No, mum! We can’t spare fifty pounds on some crack psychic!”

“She’s a medium! The advert had all sorts of people she’s helped,” Jackie insists. Rose picks up her bag and pushes past her mum.

“They’re paid actors, mum. It’s not real, and you can’t have fifty pounds. We can’t afford it.”

“Maybe if you got your head out of the clouds and worked instead of doing something useless like university, we could!” Jackie snarls. Rose feels something inside of her snap. 

“You want more money? Then why don’t you GET A BLOODY JOB AND HELP ME AROUND HERE!” Rose hears Jackie dissolve into tears, but she can’t hang around and soothe her. She slams the door to the flat on the way out, and prays she won’t be too late for class.

#

John glances at the clock, and then back at the crowd of students. Rose isn’t among them. He debates waiting longer to begin his lecture, but the other students are already getting restless. He’s just opening his mouth to speak when Rose comes running in, her hair wild and her cheeks flushed like she’d just run a marathon. 

“Sorry,” she gasps, barely looking at him as she slips into the first open seat she can find, the end of the second row. 

“Right then,” John says. “Let’s get started.”

He studies her, surreptitiously of course, as he lectures. The bags beneath her eyes are more pronounced than usual today, and she can barely stay awake. John hates that she’s struggling. He wants to sweep her away, take care of her, and make sure she never wants for anything ever again. 

By the time class ends, John is quite sure Rose will want nothing to do with their scheduled tutoring session. She remains, though, after all the other students have gone. John pulls a spare chair up to his desk and Rose shuffles over, nearly dead on her feet.

“All right?” he asks.

“Yep.”

“Any particular questions you have; or just a review of everything for this week?” 

“Everything.” John flounders for a moment, trying to decide how to proceed. He’s used to Rose being affable and sunny, even when stressed. He isn’t sure how to interact with the terse, grumpy Rose. 

He reaches out and gently taps the back of Rose’s hand. She meets his gaze and her eyes immediately start to fill with tears. 

“Hey, hey, what’s this?” Before John can stop himself, he’s pulled Rose into his arms, hugging her tightly. He expects to be pushed away, but Rose hugs him back like he’s a lifeline, her hands fisting in the back of his jacket.   
He feels her tears soaking into his shirt as she buries her face in his chest. 

John lets her cry; holding her tightly, stroking her hair, rubbing soothing circles on her back. After a few minutes, the tears start to slow.

“Rose, are you okay?” John asks. She doesn’t move out of his embrace, and he doesn’t release her. 

“I’m fine,” she says. He snorts. “No, really. It’s just been a rough week, and on top of it all, I had a massive row with my mum this morning.”

They’re still standing by John’s desk, wrapped up in each other’s arms. John knows it’s probably dangerous, for more reasons than one, but it feels so nice to have Rose in his arms, he can’t bring himself to care. Instead, he presses a gentle, reassuring kiss to her temple. 

Rose pulls back slowly to look at him, and John worries that he’s gone too far. Instead of chastising him, Rose pulls herself onto her toes and kisses him, hard.

John sucks in a breath, allowing Rose the opportunity to slip her tongue into his mouth. He’d forgotten what Heaven it is to kiss her, and he relishes in it for a moment before he kisses her back. Their tongues tangle around each other and Rose groans, arching into his chest. A surge of want rushes through John’s blood, and he feels himself harden against her stomach. 

He guides her back a few steps and then hoists her onto his desk, thrusting against her as he does. Rose rips her mouth away from his to catch her breath, panting as she reaches out to palm his cock through his trousers. John dives for her neck, nipping his way to her earlobe and biting down in a way he knows she loves.

“Oh God,” Rose groans, loud and throaty. She starts to attack his belt and John wiggles his hand beneath her shirt, skimming up her ribs to caress her breast. 

“Just John will do,” he teases, chuckling. Rose doesn’t even bother laughing, just grabs the open ends of his belt and uses them to tug him against her. She lies back on the desk, pulling him with her, and there’s a bit of scrambling while he finds purchase above her. 

“I’ve never done this on a desk before,” John says, his words faltering as Rose slips her hands into his pants. He thrusts into her grip a couple of times, groaning and hoping he can hold out long enough to make her come first. 

Rose freezes as his words seem to kick her brain back into gear. Then the heat of her hand disappears, and Rose sighs.

“We can’t do this,” she whispers. John looks at her for a long moment, feeling the heat of her so close to him, relishing her softness, wishing he could just say sod it. But he knows they can’t do this. Of course they can’t do this. John climbs off the desk, helping Rose to sit up, and berates himself for letting it get so far. 

“You’re right. Damn it, you’re right.” Rose reaches out and traces her fingers over his forehead, his cheekbone, and finally his jaw. “I’m sorry, Rose.”

“Not your fault. You’re…my kryptonite,” she says with a laugh. “I can’t seem to help myself.”

“I can’t seem to help myself either. We’re a right pair, aren’t we?”

Rose backs away and they take a moment to put themselves back together. Rose grabs her bag and for a moment John worries that she’s going to leave, but she just smiles and arches a teasing eyebrow at him. 

“Maybe we should move our tutoring sessions to the cafe down the street?” 

“Yes, brilliant plan,” John agrees, and follows her out. 

#

John is thrilled with how easily he and Rose settled back into a student/teacher relationship after their encounter on his desk. They part ways only when Rose can no longer keep her eyes open, and even then only because he has a meeting to get to. Rose would have stayed to revise forever if he hadn’t bundled her into a taxi and pre-paid the fare. She argued, but he was worried she would fall asleep on the bus and miss her stop. It gave him peace of mind to see her off in a taxi. 

Now, he’s on his way to a Breathe Free meeting. He started the Foundation after Fred was born as a way to feel useful to Donna, to support her, and hopefully make medical strides to keep Fred alive into his thirties…maybe beyond. It gives John a feeling of purpose. He wants badly to share it with Rose, to share everything with Rose.

John shakes himself from his thoughts as he enters the conference room on campus. Several board members are already seated, talking over coffee. John settles in and hands out the meeting agenda. 

“Right, shall we get started then?” John asks, scanning the faces around him. All the board members are present save one, and she hasn’t been to a meeting in months. 

Of course, the woman is like the devil, and thinking of her is enough to call her forth. John barely contains a groan as his ex-wife sails through the door. She’s dressed in an ivory suit with gold accents, which should look ostentatious but on her just looks…like her. Her blonde hair gleams in its sleek up-do, not a wisp of hair out of place, and her blue eyes take in the room shrewdly, bestowing smiles and winks on some board members, casually touching others on the shoulder or arm. He watches her, watches her calculated approach to the room, and wonders how he ever thought her charming and sincere.

“How good of you to join us,” John says, unable to keep his tone entirely neutral. Reinette offers him a dazzling smile and sinks into the open chair beside him.

“I do need to be present every once in a while, darling, to make sure everything is being run well.” John sighs and regrets ever asking Reinette for help in starting the foundation. He needed her family’s money and influence at the time, but now her involvement in something so near and dear to him is like an open sore, more painful every time she comes near. 

“Right.” John snaps. 

He calls the meeting to order and they work their way through the agenda. Reinette is worryingly flirtatious, finding any excuse to touch or tease him. John knows her well enough to know that she wants something, but he can’t possibly imagine what. They’ve been divorced for over a year, and they’ve had no contact outside of the occasional board meeting or random social functions. 

Finally the meeting wraps up and John attempts to get out before Reinette can corner him, but he’s not fast enough. 

“John, darling, I need to speak with you.” She lays a hand on his arm to stop him. John stares down at her thin, elegant fingers, remembering a time when such a touch would have him on fire for her. He feels nothing now, other than disgust and contempt. 

“What do you want, Reinette?”

She steps in close, so close that her breasts brush against his chest, and skims her hand up his arm to rest on his shoulder. The Chanel perfume she wears makes his head swim. 

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately, real soul searching, and I’ve come to the conclusion that I made a mistake.” She looks up at him from beneath her lashes, then bats them slowly, giving her a doe-eyed appearance. 

“What mistake is that?”

She presses herself closer so that their bodies are flush, and her hand migrates around the back of his neck, into the short hair at his nape. She scratches her fingernails lightly over his scalp. Her gaze drops to his lips and she sways closer.

“Leaving you.” He feels her breath on his lips an instant before she kisses him. It’s soft and lingering, and he feels nothing, absolutely nothing. Certainly nothing like the all-consuming passion he feels with Rose. 

John gently pushes her away, shaking his head.

“I thought the mistake was marrying me in the first place? Isn’t that what you said when I caught you fucking Mr. Bellamy in our bed?” 

Reinette frowns, her lips tightening into a thin line, and her eyes narrow. 

“Matthew is not the man I thought he was,” she hisses. John laughs, a loud, raucous sound. He can’t help it, the situation is too ridiculous. 

“Let me guess, he’s bored of you already and found someone else to entertain him?” Reinette doesn’t say anything, but her lips purse and John can read the truth in her face. He shakes his head. “I could have saved you the trouble, Reinette, and told you that from the beginning.” 

“Clearly I was blind,” Reinette says, waving her hand. “The point is, I’ve realized my error, and I want to make it right.” 

She steps in again, smoothing her hands over his lapels. John catches her by the wrists and holds her at bay. 

“I thought I would never recover from our divorce, Reinette, but I have. I’m not about to put myself back in that situation. I’m sorry Matthew is being unfaithful, but I’m not interested.”

He lets go of her and hurries for the door.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your lovely comments about Chapter 9!

Chapter 10

Each time John sees Rose, the dark circles beneath her eyes are more pronounced. Her eyes themselves, usually so sparkling and full of life, grow dull. She looks smaller, more fragile, even though John knows that Rose is anything but. 

Despite this, she still pays fierce attention during his lectures, taking page after page of intricate notes. John wonders if this isn’t a way to keep herself awake. They meet at the café like clockwork; he orders tea, she orders coffee with multiple shots of espresso. Sometimes they order treats for themselves, but not often because Rose says she’s watching her figure. 

Rose slumps in the seat a little bit and cradles her head in her hands as they wait for their drinks. They usually chat a minute before diving in to the chemistry, but today Rose seems content to doze. John watches her, cataloging every minute change. He hates seeing her like this. 

“Can I ask you something?” John wonders. Rose starts, nearly toppling out of her chair, and looks at him with bleary eyes. She smiles, though, and nods.

“Sure.” 

John soaks in the smile for a moment, wondering if it’s the same smile she would grace him with after waking up in his arms on a lazy Sunday morning. Despite how well he knows her, there are still a million little things he doesn’t know. He wants to. He wants to know everything.

“Why do you do what you do?” Rose’s eyes narrow and John worries he’s made a misstep.

“Never seemed to bother you before,” Rose says, with so much ice in her voice it pulls him up short. John frowns.

“Doesn’t bother me now,” he says. “I’m just curious. And a bit worried.”

“Why are you worried? You know how thorough the process is, how the agency vets everyone.” He can almost see her hackles rise and he hurries to backpedal.

“No, no, that’s not what I meant. I mean you look exhausted, Rose. You’re clearly working too hard and I just wonder if it’s worth it. I hate to see you suffering.”

“It’s none of your business,” Rose says. 

“I’m just trying to help…”

“I don’t need any help. I’m handling it.”

“Pardon my saying so, but it doesn’t seem like you are,” John says, trying to keep his tone even. He doesn’t want to draw attention. Rose scoffs and stands, gathering her bag as she glares at him.

“You know what? Fuck you, John.”

She storms out of the café, and John wonders how everything could have possibly spiraled so out of control.

#

John spends the next several days feeling terrible, wishing he were brave enough to call Rose and apologize. He arrives at the lecture theater certain that she won’t be interested in their usual tutoring session, and that the careful balance of their relationship has been upset. 

The students file in, Rose among them. She looks a good deal more rested, a bit brighter and lighter. He feels a sudden, sharp stab of jealousy as he wonders what has sparked this change in her. Did she spend the weekend with a client? Did the client make her laugh, ease all her stress like John used to do? 

Just as suddenly as the thoughts enter his mind, he dismisses them. She isn’t his to covet, and he’s certainly the last person who can judge who she is and what she does. He only wants to get back to where they were, interacting like regular people. He doesn’t want to lose her. 

Rose laughs at something one of the other students says, and then glances at him. Her smile dims a little, and it leaves a dull pain in his chest. He offers her a sheepish grin, hoping she’ll read the apology in his eyes. It must work, because she brightens again and nods.

Buoyed by the rightness of Rose’s smile, John starts teaching. The class flies by, and before he knows it, the students are packing up and shuffling out. He waits, perched at the edge of his desk, hoping to stop Rose before she slips out. He needn’t worry, though. Rose hangs back until the students have gone, and then approaches him.

“I’m sorry.”

They dissolve into laughter, each telling the other to go first. Finally John takes a deep breath and dives in.

“Rose, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be an arse about it, I just worry.” Rose smiles, stepping in close and laying her hand against his cheek.

“I’m sorry too. It’s hard not to get defensive, in my line of work. And I adore you for worrying, but I’m a big girl, I can take care of myself.” She pauses and stares straight into his eyes. He can feel the weight of what she’s about to say. “I don’t need saving, John.”

John swallows hard and nods. Of course she doesn’t need saving. He never set out to save her in the first place, but he does want to take care of her. Is there a difference? 

“Of course not,” he whispers. “I just…”

John shakes his head. He was about to very stupidly admit to his feelings for her. No matter what, he knows he can’t tell her yet. 

“You just what?” Rose prompts. She drops her hand from his face and John immediately wishes she would put it back. 

“I just want to see you happy.”

She smiles at him, that full watt Rose smile that makes him weak in the knees. He can’t help but touch her, so he reaches forward to tuck a stray bit of hair behind her ear. He lets his fingertips trail over her cheek, along her jaw, until he gently cups her chin and pulls her in for a kiss.

#

Reinette Poisson is a woman used to getting what she wants, when she wants it. Years ago, when she tired of all the frivolity her socialite lifestyle offered, she wanted a man who would balance her; someone smart, educated, and serious. She chose John, and she snagged him with very little effort. When she tired of being a professor’s wife, she sought a fun, lighthearted relationship with someone who could appreciate her lifestyle, frivolous though it was. She found Matthew, and secured him with even less effort than it had taken her to get John. She even spent months enjoying the best of both worlds before divorcing John.

Loathe as she is to admit it, she may have made the wrong choice. Looking back, Matthew is too much like her, too hedonistic and selfish, to make even a good trophy husband. She could ignore Matthew’s wandering eye, but when the private detective came back to her with pictures of him being unfaithful, she knew he had to go. 

She knows now that John’s serious nature and his total devotion to her actually make him the better choice, and Reinette wants to correct her mistakes. John, for all his faults, would never cheat on her. And she can always seek fulfillment outside of his bed, if it comes to that. 

Striding down the hall towards John’s classroom, Reinette smiles. He rebuffed her once, but she always gets what she wants in the end. And she wants John. 

Class is over and most of the students are gone. A few linger in the hall, but Reinette strides past them with barely a thought. They’re nothing to her. She slows when she gets to John’s lecture theater. It wouldn’t do to just barge into the room, she needs a read on the situation first. She needs a plan of attack. If she can surprise him, fluster him, he’ll be much more malleable.

She peers around the door. John is standing at his desk with a blonde girl, probably a student, judging by her rucksack. The girl reaches up to touch John’s cheek, and he leans into it. Reinette feels her eyes narrow to slits. They’re talking too quietly for her to hear, but certainly John isn’t in a relationship with a student.

Then John reaches forward and tucks the girl’s hair behind her ears. Reinette can almost feel his touch; she’s been on the receiving end of it enough times. She remembers feeling John’s love for her radiating from his fingertips, blazing a trail across her skin. He doesn’t touch just anyone like that. 

Reinette’s blood begins to boil as she tracks the progress of his fingers across the girls face. She barely bites back a shriek of rage when he pulls the girl in for a kiss. How dare he! With a chavy student, no less, when he could have her. What can this girl possibly offer him that she can’t? 

The kiss is slow and sweet, and doesn’t last very long. John pulls the girl in for a tight hug, and she rests her head against his chest, turning her face towards Reinette as she does. 

The whore. Reinette blinks several times to make sure that she’s seeing correctly; the girl John is hugging is the same whore that Matthew is sneaking around with. A shrewd, calculating smile creeps across her face as she considers the possibilities. This is too perfect. Her saintly John would never knowingly involve himself with a prostitute.

Getting John back is going to be even easier than she thought.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

It’s rare that John has any downtime. He’s not a person who likes to be idle, so his free time is usually spent doing Breathe Free work, or writing, or researching for his next writing project. He does lab work if he has nothing else on the agenda, but today he decides that he could use some relaxation. It’s a glorious Saturday, and his pile of books to be read is perilously close to toppling over, so he chooses one from the bottom of the stack and wanders out to his balcony.

The balcony is small, but large enough for two folding chairs and a little round side table. He’s got a plant in one corner that Donna must water when she comes over, because he never does and yet the plant is still alive. It’s his favorite spot, shaded most of the day by the balcony above his, yet he can still breathe in the fresh air as he reads.

He tries his best to concentrate on the book in front of him, but his thoughts stray to Rose, as they nearly always do. He thinks back to their kiss in the lecture hall. For once, it hadn’t led to a loss of control, or an all-consuming hunger. He’d still wanted her, of course, he thinks he always will, but he’d been content to just pour all of his love and affection into that simple press of their lips. 

It’s getting harder and harder to deny that he’s falling in love with her. Their tutoring sessions are the highlight of his days, and he misses her when they’re not together. After the term is over and she’s no longer his student, he wants to date her. He hates that term, “date,” it’s so casual, far too small to convey the depth of his feelings. Honestly he’d marry her that instant if he thought she would agree, but for now he’d be content just to see her socially without risking his job or her enrollment. He isn’t thrilled about her job, but she wouldn’t be a student if she wanted to be a prostitute forever, and if the choice is between sharing her with her job or not having her at all, he’ll share. 

John is lost in dreaming of his future with Rose when there’s a knock at his door. His eyes narrow as the knock repeats. He knows that cadence. It’s Reinette. He debates pretending that he isn’t home, but that will only make it worse in the end, so he sets his book down and goes to answer the door.

Reinette is as dressed down as she ever is in designer jeans practically painted on and a sleeveless silk blouse with a plunging neckline. It’s the mix of spice and girl next door that always set John’s blood to simmering. Now, he sees very clearly that she’s trying too hard. 

“Reinette,” he says, his voice flat. He tries to stand directly in the doorway so she won’t come in, but she slips by him anyway, deliberately pausing as she brushes against him.

“John,” she purrs. 

“What do you need, Reinette?” John follows her into the kitchen. She hesitates at the hallway that leads to the bedroom, but apparently even she isn’t that bold, because she heads for the refrigerator instead, pulling out a bottle of white wine. John wants to laugh at her audacity, moving about the flat like she’s a regular, welcome visitor.

“I know I shocked you after the meeting the other day. I didn’t mean to be quite so forward. I thought maybe we could just…talk,” Reinette says. She pulls out two stemless wine glasses and pours, then holds one of them out to John. He doesn’t move to take it, standing with his arms at his sides until she finally sets it down on the counter, hard enough that some wine sloshes over the rim. 

“What is there to talk about?” John asks, unable to entirely keep the venom out of his voice. Reinette offers him a sweet, condescending smile. 

“About us. About you and your life over the last year. I miss you, John.” She reaches out and covers his hand with hers, gently tracing her nails across the back of it. John pulls his hand away.

“I meant what I said the other day, Reinette. I’m not interested. I’m actually…I’m seeing someone.” John swallows past the lump in his throat. Factually, it’s a lie, but emotionally he feels tied to Rose, and he has no desire to seek companionship elsewhere. 

A darkness passes over Reinette’s face. He watches her fingers clench around the glass in her hand and he worries for a moment that she’ll break it. Then, she smiles. It’s not the smile she was trying to snare him with earlier, it’s a cold, calculating smirk that sends ice through his veins.

“I had heard that,” she says slowly, tracing her finger around the rim of the glass. “Did you know, dear John, that your girlfriend is a whore?”

John stiffens, clenching his teeth as his temper flares. He hates that this woman he loathes is using such a crass, ugly word to refer to his Rose. 

He barely has time to wonder how she heard about Rose, much less how she knows about Rose’s job, before Reinette pulls a large photo from her purse. She slides it across the island and John can’t help but look. 

The photo shows Belle in a restaurant booth, practically laid out on it, and Reinette’s husband has his face buried in her chest. The bottom seems to fall out of John’s stomach as he’s confronted with the reality of the girl he loves in the arms of another man. 

He’s never been under any illusions about Belle’s profession; being one of her clients makes that sort of delusion nearly impossible. But now, when he looks down at the photo in front of him, John doesn’t see Belle the escort, a beautiful, sexy, sophisticated woman doing her job. All he can see is Rose, his sweet, smart, overworked Rose, with Matthew Bellamy’s mouth on her breast. The visual causes a wave of nausea that nearly overtakes him, and he has to work hard to keep it from showing on his face. He refuses to let Reinette see that she’s caused him major damage. Again.

As calmly as he can, John draws in a breath through his nose. He meets Reinette’s gaze head on, waiting a beat to make sure he has her full attention.

“I do know. Now kindly get out of my house.”

Fury washes over Reinette in a visible wave, tremors starting at her face and working their way through her body. Her fingers close on her wine glass again and John can only watch as she flings it against the wall, glass shattering and wine raining down. 

She storms out of his flat without another word. 

Once she’s gone, John sags against the counter. Until now, he’s viewed Belle and Rose almost as two different people. Belle had enraptured him, comforted him, and thrilled him. His appointments with her had soothed his soul as he navigated his way through the emotional devastation caused by Reinette’s betrayal. But Belle isn’t real. She’s a persona, meant to seduce men and protect her portrayer. Falling in love with Belle is like falling in love with a character in a film. 

Rose, though? Rose is real, and he’s in love with her. He feels it deep down, in his bones. Her sweetness, her strength, her intelligence, and her drive to be better have conspired to make him want to spend the rest of his life with her. And, as the photo so abruptly proved, it makes him want to wretch when he thinks about her fucking another man the way she would fuck him.

Staring at the splatter of wine on his wall, John tries to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach. Reinette is a vindictive woman, especially when she feels that she’s been wronged. He wouldn’t put it past her to do something rash.

Picking up his mobile, he dials Rose.

“Hello?” She sounds both surprised and cautious; though they’ve exchanged numbers for the sake of their tutoring sessions, they’ve never used them.

“Rose,” John says, his voice cracking mid-word. “Um…”

“John, what’s wrong?”

“Reinette…my ex, she was just here. She had a picture.” John takes a deep, ragged breath. Thinking about the picture makes him feel ill, speaking of it may actually make him vomit. “Apparently her current husband is a client of yours.”

Rose gasps. “John, I’m sorry, I didn’t…”

“It’s okay, Rose. I’m not…you don’t have to answer to me. I don’t know how she found out that you and I are involved, but she did, and she’s upset. I’m afraid she’ll do something drastic. I just…I don’t know what she’ll do, but I wanted to give you some warning.”

“Thank you, John. Whatever she does, I can handle it.” The waver in Rose’s voice betrays her nerves. John wishes he was with her, wishes he could hold her and comfort her.

“Just…take care, Rose.”

He rings off, feeling like he’s just lost something precious. 

#

Rose has spent the entire weekend on pins and needles, waiting for something to happen. She scans every newspaper, every gossip rag, for mentions of either of her names, John, or Matthew and Reinette. She even enlists Jack to help, but there’s nothing. The old saying that no news is good news rings in her ears, but she can’t help but feel that there’s a guillotine hanging above her head. 

She goes to class early, anxious to see John, to ask him what he thinks, if he’s heard anything. They haven’t spoken since he called to warn her about Reinette. She worries a bit that knowing Matthew was a client will be the straw that broke the camel’s back, and he’ll want nothing to do with her.

John isn’t there when she arrives, but she doesn’t worry. She pulls out her notes and looks over them, trying to keep everything fresh in her mind. Other students start to file in. 

She doesn’t worry.

The clock ticks down. She smiles, imagining John running late and tumbling through the door in that adorable way he has. The room is full now and class was supposed to start five minutes ago.

Finally, someone walks in, but it isn’t John. The man looks barely older than Rose herself, and he looks terribly nervous. He sets his bag down on the table and pulls out a stack of notes. He shuffles around a bit before addressing the students.

“Erm, hello. I’m Mark, I’m a graduate student in the chemistry department, and I’ll be teaching this class for the rest of the term.” Murmurs buzz through the room as Rose’s stomach drops. “Professor Smith has taken an unexpected leave of absence.”

Mark keeps talking, but Rose can’t hear anything but the roar of blood in her ears. The urge to run from the room and straight to John is overwhelming, but she grits her teeth and pulls out her phone instead. 

_You took a leave of absence?_

She waits, her eyes glued to her phone. It seems to take forever, but finally he replies.

_Reinette went to the school about us._

Rose stops breathing. She expected Reinette to do something horribly public, to drag Rose’s name through the mud, not to attack John. 

_I was nearly fired, but I talked them down to a suspension. They don’t know who you are._

Rose feels the hot sting of tears in her eyes and blinks quickly to clear them. She’s ruined his career with her inability to control herself around him. 

_John, I’m so sorry. I feel terrible. What can I do?_

_I could go to the school, tell them it’s not true…_

_I’ve already admitted to it. Please don’t get involved, there’s no reason for you to suffer any consequences._

_And don’t feel badly. Truly don’t. But it’s probably best that we not see each other for a while._

Rose feels his words like a blow to her stomach. Certain she won’t be able to sit through the lecture without breaking down, Rose gathers her things and slips out. As she walks, she dials Jack.

“Meet me at the pub? I need a drink.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I know that realistically there aren't often official rules that prohibit university students from dating their professors. It's discouraged, but not strictly prohibited, etc, etc. And I think that in general the UK is even less concerned about it than we are in the US (though I could be wrong about that). But for the sake of the story, let's pretend that it is strictly prohibited for professors to date their students.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

The days pass by slowly for Rose. She goes to work and she goes to class and she ignores calls from collectors, but it isn’t the same. She used to have fun with her clients, pretending to be Belle and letting go of all her troubles, but now all she can think about is John. How he’s coping, how much she misses his smile, and how chemistry made so much more sense when he taught it. 

The only thing that brings her even a little comfort is putting cash towards her father’s debts. She’s nearly done, a few more months and she’ll be able to leave Belle behind her. She might tack on a few extra months just to bolster her savings, but she won’t have to. Rose can almost taste the freedom. 

When she’s not at work and not in class, Rose mopes. She locks herself in her bedroom and stares at the ceiling, or throws herself into revising, or turns her music up loud enough to drown out everything else. 

She also dodges Mickey’s calls until he nearly kicks in her door. 

“Mickey!” Rose shouts, glaring at him. “You’re paying for it if you’ve damaged that door!”

“Fine, but you’re coming down to the pub with me.” Mickey reaches for her ankle to drag her off the bed, but Rose scrambles away. 

“I don’t feel like it tonight.”

“You never feel like it anymore! And Shireen and Keisha say you’ve been avoiding their calls! Come on, you’re going.”

Rose kicks out when Mickey reaches for her again.

“Leave me alone, Micks. I don’t feel like going out.”

Mickey throws his hands in the air and turns towards the door. 

“Fine. You want to turn into your mum, fine by me.”

The words wash over Rose like ice water. Mickey’s right, shutting herself away is only going to make Rose into a younger version of her mother. She needs to shake it off, and get out. Live. 

“Fine, give me time to shower.”

Mickey stares at her the way only someone who has known you your entire life can, and then nods. “I’ll be watching telly.”

#

John throws himself into writing his next book. He locks himself in his flat for days, barely remembering to eat or sleep, as he writes. He’s not even sure how many days have passed until Donna breaks into his flat.

“I haven’t seen you or spoken to you in TWO WEEKS John Noble! You don’t return my calls, you’ve left no indication you’re even ALIVE. You smell like a corpse! Get in the shower!” Donna bustles him away from his desk and into his en suite, throwing a towel at him before slamming the door. 

He showers, loathe to admit that it feels amazing, and emerges to find Donna fixing a fry-up and tea. 

“Start talking,” she demands, pointing with her spatula at a chair. John settles himself into it and cradles his head in his hands. 

“Reinette.”

The spatula clatters loudly as it hits the floor. Donna gapes at him. “What?”

“Oh Donna, it’s such a long story,” John groans. Donna reaches into the drawer for another spatula and turns back to the stove.

“I’ve got time,” she says. John considers what to tell her. She knows he was interested in Rose, but she doesn’t know the entire story and he isn’t sure he can bear to tell her. 

“The student I was seeing before term started?” Donna nods. “We did like you said and started getting to know each other. She’s brilliant Donna, so smart and funny, you’d love her. She was having trouble with the material, so we started meeting after class so I could tutor her. It was…mostly innocent. We slipped up once or twice, but never slept together. Anyway, somehow Reinette found out and in a jealous fit she told the school. I’m on suspension, and I can’t see Rose anymore.”

“I hate that woman,” Donna hisses. “What, she wasn’t happy with just breaking your heart, she has to make sure you’re never happy again?”

“She’s very angry,” John says. Donna rolls her eyes. Then her gaze softens as she watches John. He truly looks wretched, sallow skin and bags under his eyes. Her heart breaks for her brother, who has done so much for her. 

“Do you love her?” 

John’s head snaps up, and he looks horrified. “Reinette?”

“No, dumbo, your student. Rose, yeah?” John nods absently.

“I…yeah. Yeah, Donna, I love her.”

“Then sod Reinette. And sod the school! Remember in mum and dad’s day? Tons of their friends met because they were professor and student.”

A familiar spark flares in John’s eyes, the same one she’s seen a thousand times before, when he stumbles on a discovery. He scrambles for his mobile, and taps out a message.

“She’s at a pub near the school,” John says when his phone buzzes a moment later. He looks up at Donna, a smile on his face. “I’m going to get her.”

#

The pub is crowded and loud. There’s a match on, and people are cheering and yelling at the telly. It’s giving Rose a headache. 

“So Rose, why’ve you been shut up in your flat for weeks?” Shireen asks. Rose takes a deep drink of her pint before answering. 

“I was seeing a bloke. It went bad.” She’s not willing to elaborate, even though she can see them salivating over the prospect of gossip. Thankfully, her words remind them of some other relationship around the estate that’s gone bad and they occupy themselves with speculating what caused the massive row. 

The door to the pub slams inward, banging against the wall and drawing the attention of every patron. Rose gasps when she recognizes John, backlit by the sun, his hair wild. His head whips back and forth as he searches the room for her. Rose can’t do much more than stare as his eyes settle on her face and he moves quickly across the room. She stands to meet him.

“Rose! Oh, Rose,” John says as he reaches her. He sweeps her into a bone crushing hug, muttering nonsense in her ear. Finally he pulls back, grasping her shoulders and stooping to look straight into her eyes. 

“John, what are you doing?” Rose asks. Her throat feels raw with looming tears.

“I’m so miserable without you, Rose. I hate not seeing you, your beautiful smile, and that little crease between your eyes when you concentrate. I want to be with you. I want to make a proper go of it,” John says, his words forceful and sure. 

Terror clogs Rose’s throat when she realizes that everyone in the pub is watch them, listening to John’s every word. They can’t have this conversation in the middle of a crowded pub.

“Let’s go somewhere,” she says, just managing a whisper. Hope blooms in John’s eyes and Rose nearly chokes. 

He leads her out of the pub and flags down a cab. The driver takes them to John’s flat in a posh building, the kind Rose has only ever seen as Belle. John pays the driver and takes her hand, leading her up the stairs. 

Rose has never been to his flat before, and she soaks it all in as John asks if she wants anything to drink, eat, anything at all. She declines, noting the books and papers strewn about the living room. Everything else is clean, and Rose wonders who made it that way, because she can’t imagine it was John. 

She’s staring at a painting, some fantastical landscape with silver trees and an orange sky, when John wraps his arms around her from behind. He drops a kiss on her shoulder.

“What about the school?” Rose asks. John carefully turns her around to face him. 

“Sod the school. I make enough money to support us without teaching.” John tucks her hair behind her ears as he speaks, trailing his fingertips along her cheekbones and her jaw.

“Us?” Rose echoes.

“Us. I’ve fallen in love with you, Rose Tyler.” A sob rips its way from Rose’s throat, and John immediately folds her in his arms, kissing every part of her face that he can reach. “I know it’s crazy, and fast. You don’t have to say it back, I just needed you to know.”

Rose shakes her head. He doesn’t understand. She wants what he’s offering, so much it scares her, but she can’t have it. She can’t be with John while she’s still an escort, she can’t do that to him, and she can’t quit. She’s so close, but she can’t quit yet.

She steels herself to tell him so, and pulls back with a shuddering breath, but he doesn’t give her a chance to speak. His mouth is on hers in an instant, his lips firm and insistent. Rose gets swept up in the feeling, moaning as his tongue pushes into her mouth.

She gathers her courage and rips her mouth from his. 

“John,” she gasps. 

“Rose. My Rose,” he growls. He nips a line down her jaw and her neck before turning back to her mouth like a starving man. 

Rose frames his face with her hands, pulling his mouth from hers so that she can look him in the eye. God, she loves him. And she wants him, so much it’s like an ache deep in her soul, driving her forward towards this connection with him. She’ll ruin them both, and yet she can’t bring herself to walk away. Not yet. 

She drags him in for a kiss. 

As she sinks into his embrace, her hands start to wander. They travel the slope of his shoulders, the long, curving line of his spine, until they settle on the firm globes of his arse. She squeezes, making him buck his hips into her stomach. She feels him hard against her already, and she wants nothing more than to feel him moving inside of her one last time. 

John’s hands slip beneath the hem of her shirt, ghosting up her sides and making her giggle into his kiss, before he reaches her lace covered breasts. He gives them a firm squeeze, making Rose groan and rise up on her toes. 

“Bedroom,” he mutters, not lifting his lips from hers. He skates his hands around to her bum and then further to her thighs, encouraging her to jump and lock her legs around his waist. The embrace positions his cock right against her center and they both moan loudly.

John hurries towards the bedroom, each step causing his cock to rub against her. Rose is on the verge of coming by the time he drops her on his bed. The mattress is soft and the comforter is fluffy, and it envelopes Rose as she lands. She barely has a moment to appreciate the predatory look in John’s eyes before he pounces on her. 

John removes her clothing slowly, taking the time to skim his lips and tongue over each bit of exposed skin. After removing her shirt, he pulls down the cups of her bra and closes his lips around her already straining nipple, sucking hard. She gasps and bucks as a bolt of pleasure zings straight to her core. 

When she’s finally naked, he sits back on his haunches to admire and study her, like he’s checking for changes since the last time he saw her laid bare. Her skin warms under the touch of his gaze, until she can’t stand it.

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” she says, surging up and grasping his shirt by the collar. She’s tempted to just rip it off of him, but he lifts his arms and she pulls it over his head instead. She rolls them so that she’s kneeling over him and peppers kisses across his chest, down his stomach until she’s following the trail of dark hair to the waistband of his trousers. 

He’s straining against the zipper and Rose cups him, giving him a squeeze that makes John’s head drop back.

“Fuck, Rose, please,” he begs. She smiles and sets to freeing him. Carefully lowering the zipper, she shoves his trousers and pants down just far enough to free his erection. She wraps her hand around him, pumping slowly once, twice, then stops until he picks up his head to look at her.

As soon as their eyes meet, she envelopes him in her mouth. John shouts in surprise and thrusts into her mouth before dropping back and groaning long and low. His hand works its way to her head, his fingers tangling in her hair as she sucks him. She hums around him. She’d forgotten how fantastic he feels in her mouth. 

She swirls her tongue around the tip and lets go of him with a wet pop. 

“Come here,” John growls, pulling her up his body. He kisses her deeply, his tongue thrusting wildly into her mouth, and then rolls them over.

He fumbles in his bedside drawer for a condom and rolls it on as quickly as possible, desperate to be inside of her. 

“John, please,” she keens. He skates a hand down her stomach and through her curls, slipping first one finger and then a second inside of her, testing that she’s ready. He curls his fingers in a way that makes her shiver, and then sucks her essence from his hand.

“I’ll return the favor next time, yeah?” He whispers as he lines himself up. Rose nods, not even realizing what she’s agreeing to, her eyes squeezed shut as she arches and twists beneath him. 

He pushes inside of her slowly, savoring the feel of her walls clenching around him, pulling him deeper. 

“Fuck,” he breathes, once he is finally seated as deep as he can be in this position. He holds himself above her, breathing deeply, trying not to come like a teenager out for his first tumble. 

Rose’s hands scrabble up his arms to link behind his neck, pulling his forehead down to press against hers. Their breath mingles, brushing hot across their faces.

“Kiss me, John,” she gasps. He does, slowly making love to her mouth. He pulls out, pausing for a moment until she keens around his tongue, and then thrusts hard, making Rose squeal and arch beneath him. She hooks a leg around his thigh and rolls her hips, and the pleasure is so much that his rhythm falters. 

He tries to keep his movements measured, purposeful, but Rose flips them, rising above him and grinding down until John can barely think. She rises and falls quickly, her thighs shaking as they clench against his hips. She cries out and falls down to kiss him, her lips crashing into his, teeth knocking together. He feels a burning in the base of his spine, and he knows this won’t last much longer. 

“Rose,” he whispers against her lips, shuddering as he feels his orgasm racing forward. “Rose, I’m not…I can’t.”

His fingers fumble to where they’re joined and he rubs hard and fast at her clit, praying she can get there in time to match him. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Rose pants against his mouth. John comes hard, grabbing Rose’s hips and grinding her down on his cock. She shrieks, shuddering and bucking as she follows him into bliss. 

They collapse together in a tangle of limbs, breathing heavy. John takes a moment to bask in a happiness that he hasn’t felt in too long. He threads his fingers through Rose’s, pulling her hand up to his lips for a kiss, and then rolls out of bed. He pads into the en suite to dispose of the condom.

When he returns, Rose is hurriedly buttoning her jeans as she casts a glance around the room, looking for her missing knickers. He frowns.

“What are you doing?” he asks. Rose stiffens, pausing for a long moment. John is pretty sure he hears her sniffle. She turns to face him, but she can’t seem to meet his gaze as she shakes her head.

“I can’t...I can’t stay. I’ve got errands.” She spots her knickers, hidden halfway under the bed, and stoops to pick them up, stuffing them in her pocket.

“Errands,” John parrots, his voice flat. He feels a horrible sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. They were supposed to spend the next few days in bed, making love and dreaming of the future. Apparently Rose has other plans. 

“Listen, John, this has been great. Really. The sex was amazing; it always is. But this isn’t real. We can’t be an us, John. I’m a prostitute for Christ’s sake!” Rose uses ever trick she ever learned about putting on a mask as Belle to keep her face smooth, even a little cold. Haughty. She’s desperate to disguise the pain in her heart, a knife that slices deeper with every lie she utters. 

John laughs, for lack of anything else to do, and approaches her.

“You were, yeah. But I make enough money, you don’t have to be an escort anymore. You don’t have to work at all if you don’t want to!”

Rose doesn’t smile, or react at all. She just stares at him for a long moment, her eyes incredibly sad. Then she shakes her head.

“I can’t quit, John.” She says it slowly, barely able to keep from breaking. “I won’t.”

“Why the hell not?” How can all his dreams come crashing down so quickly?

“Because I don’t want to.”

John doesn’t believe it for a second. He knows that there are parts of her job she finds enjoyable, if only for the escape they offer, but he also knows that she’s tired. She has hopes and dreams beyond being a call girl. Is she afraid? 

“Of course you want to! I can see how tired you are of that life. You want to be something more. Why else would you be in my class?”

Seeing that she isn’t succeeding in getting her point across, Rose realizes that she’s going to have to push the knife in deeper. 

“I never said I was tired of the life, John,” she says. She makes sure to meet his gaze and steels herself for what she’s about to say. “Did it ever occur to you that I like it? That I like getting dressed up and going to fancy places and fucking a different handsome man every night? Girls I know would kill to have my life. I love it. And as for university, I’m not going to be young forever, and the market for washed-up hookers is not great. I might as well have a backup plan.”

Rose feels sick at the barefaced lie she’s telling, even as the words leave her mouth. Of course she’s tired of the life! She wants nothing more than to take what John is offering, but she knows that she can’t. Not now. And the only way to convince John is to push him so far away that me may never come back.

John is practically vibrating with emotion as he stands in front of Rose with his heart bleeding in his hands. The sight makes it hard for Rose to breathe. 

“That’s not true. I know it’s not true, and I don’t know why you’re trying to push me away. I know you want to be with me, but I won’t share you with your job.” John used to think that he could, but seeing the picture of her and Matthew, and still carrying the scars of Reinette’s betrayal, make him realize that’s not true. It would destroy them. 

Rose simply stares ahead, her face set in a stony mask. She appears unmoved by his speech, and it dawns on him that she means what she’s been saying. He shakes his head.

“Please, Rose. You have to choose. Me, or the job?” His voice breaks and he prays to every god he can name that this has been a terrible dream and she’ll choose him.

Rose takes a deep breath, rolls her shoulders back, and meets his gaze. The usual sparkle in her eyes is gone, they look flat and dead. 

“Then,” she says, her voice cold. “I guess you lose.”

#

Rose holds herself together until the door to John’s flat slams shut behind her. Then, she can no longer keep the tears at bay. She slides down the wall to the floor, burying her face in her hands.

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry,” she whispers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. But I promise happier times are coming.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I say this every time I post a new chapter, but Real Life has been CRAZY. Sorry the update took so long.

Chapter 13

_To Whom It May Concern ~_

_In my five years as professor of chemistry at King’s College, I’ve have grown immeasurably as a teacher, scientist, and man. Though I have given much to the school, the school has also given much to me, and for that I will be eternally grateful._

_Unfortunately, the time has come for me to move on, to focus on my own research and scholarly endeavors. Recently I have tried to balance teaching with my own projects, and I find I do justice to neither when attempting both. The students of King’s College deserve the best, and I can no longer provide that. Therefore, I must tender my resignation, effective immediately._

_Sincerely,_

_Dr. John Noble_

“John, come on. The kids are dying to see you,” Donna says, kneeling next to the chair that holds John’s slumped form. He rubs his eyes and shakes his head.

“I’ve got to finish this draft,” he says, clearing his throat. Papers are strewn around him, covered in Post-It notes and red ink. His laptop sits on the table, the screen dark while a yellow comet bounces around from edge to edge.

“You’ve been holed up here for weeks, you can take a break.”

“I’ve got a Breathe Free meeting tonight, that’s all the break I can afford. And I can’t miss it, the gala is coming up in a couple of weeks.” John doesn’t even look at her as he speaks. He stands, unfolding himself from the chair, and stumbles his way to the kitchen for coffee. Tea would only soothe him, and he can’t have that. 

“Have you even eaten this week?” Donna asks. John lifts one shoulder in a shrug. Donna sighs. She doesn’t know what happened after John went to the pub to get Rose a month ago, but she knows it wasn’t good because John came to her despondent and then locked himself in his flat. He won’t permit her to come over more than once a week. She brings groceries when she visits, but from the spoiled vegetables in the refrigerator, she can tell he doesn’t eat them. 

She’s tried everything to snap him out of it. She’s yelled, she’s cajoled, she’s pleaded. She’s tried all of her usual tricks and nothing can entice him to act like a human being. 

“John, what happened with Rose?” Donna asks, desperate to find a way to help her brother. Maybe if she could track Rose down, talk to her, maybe that would help.

John whirls to face her, his mouth set in a snarl and his eyes blazing. Donna flinches, but it’s as human as he’s looked in weeks and she’s almost glad for it. 

“Don’t say her name again. Don’t.”

In the time it takes her to blink, John’s eyes go flat again. Donna can’t help but wonder what Rose could have said or done that would leave her brother in a worse state than Reinette did. Apparently she’ll never know.

#

“Belle, are you sure about this?” Jack asks. He stares at Belle’s reflection in the mirror as she carefully applies lipstick. Her silk robe gapes open, displaying lingerie that’s more artistic than functional. He can’t say he’s unaffected.

She meets his gaze in the mirror, her eyes flat, and nods.

“I would be stupid to pass this up, she’s paying triple our usual rate.” Belle calculated the sum in her head and applied it to the total debt left to be paid. She’s so close, and this job will bring her a lot closer.

Jack moves to stand behind her, smoothing his hands over her shoulders and down her arms. He presses a kiss to her neck, more for comfort than arousal.

“It’s just that you’ve been…off, lately, and I’m not sure why. And threesomes aren’t your usual thing, at least not with a male escort as your partner, and I don’t want you to feel pressured.”

Belle turns around without moving away from him. Her breasts brush against his chest and he feels himself begin to harden. She skates her hands up his chest to toy with the hair at the back of his neck.

“I’m a professional, Jack. And you’re one of my best friends. If I’m going to work with a male escort, I want it to be someone I know and trust. That’s you.” She reaches up on her toes to kiss him, her tongue flicking out to tease his lips. His hands go to her waist, dragging her closer and squeezing her hips. 

“Besides,” she says, pulling away. “If I were truly uncomfortable with this job, I wouldn’t have taken it.”

Jack nods, his eyes locked on her lips. He’s smudged her lipstick. “Want to have a go before she gets here, take the edge off?”

Belle laughs because she knows he’s joking, at least mostly, and Jack smiles, because that laugh is the first he’s heard in weeks. 

Then the client arrives, and the mask is firmly in place. The slight sparkle Jack had seen in Belle’s eyes when she laughed is gone and they are flat and dull once again. Jack knows that Belle wouldn’t do this job if she didn’t need the money, but he also knows that she enjoys it. Or she used to. She used to be able to find the fun and excitement in being wined and dined and sleeping with good looking and wealthy people. Now, though, she’s absolutely robotic. The client can’t tell, Belle is too good at her job for that, but Jack knows her, the real her, and he can see that there’s no joy in it for her. When the client says she wants Jack to make Belle come, he sets to it single-mindedly. Even if it can’t make her happy again, at least he can give her an orgasm.

#

Belle stares at the dress she’s supposed to put on in a few minutes. It’s hanging on the back of the en-suite door in the luxury hotel suite that her client has booked for them. If she wants it to be, it’s the last dress she’ll ever be paid to wear. 

She didn’t expect it to happen so quickly, just a month and a half after her disastrous last meeting with John, but the money she makes tonight will pay off her father’s debt and leave a cushion left over in her savings account.   
She’d raised her rates after John, and instead of driving away clients, it only brought more in. Rich people want things that cost more, and that apparently includes prostitutes. 

Belle also started taking more clients once the semester ended, working nearly every minute. It’s been exhausting, but it’s also led her here, so close to freedom. 

This last job has been an easy one so far. A regular client paid her obscene amounts of money to accompany him on a week-long work trip to Ibiza, which meant she spent the days sunning herself by the pool, the evenings on her client’s arm at various cocktail hours, and the nights in his bed. Their arrangement ends tonight, back in London, with a black tie charity gala and one last night in her client’s arms. He’s one of the good ones, a kind client who treats her well.

“Belle, darling, are you almost ready?” Anthony, her client, calls from the living room. She jumps, startled from her revere.

“Just about! I’ll need your help with the zip in a moment,” she calls back. She turns back to the dress. It’s navy, with an intricately beaded bodice. She takes it from the hanger and steps into it, slipping the cap sleeves onto her shoulder. Her entire torso sparkles with swirling lines of crystals, and the chiffon skirt flares just slightly at her hips, giving the dress of soft, romantic look. A deep “v” leaves her back tastefully bare.

“Anthony,” she calls quietly. He slips in the room a moment later, as though he’d been waiting by the door. He stops mid-stride, arrested by the picture Belle presents. 

“You look gorgeous,” he breathes. She smiles, batting her eyelashes and thanking him, but it’s empty. In the past, she would have preened under the compliment, taking it to heart. Now, though, there’s only one person whose opinion matters, and she will likely never hear him call her beautiful again. 

Anthony moves behind her to help her with the zip. It starts low, beneath her bum, and his fingertips skate along her knickers as he draws the zip up to where it secures at her waist. He continues to draw his fingers up her spine, sweeping her hair away and brushing a kiss at the nape of her neck.

She feels nothing. 

“Shall we?” Anthony asks. He steps back and rearranges Belle’s hair, cascading down her back in elegant curls. She pastes on a smile and lets him lead her from the hotel. 

They arrive at Draper Hall with a mass of other attendees. Stepping into the hall is like travelling back in time, and Belle drifts away from Anthony to look closer at the room’s design. He stops to say hello to someone he knows, and then finds her a moment later. 

“Gorgeous, isn’t it?” He says, lightly placing his hand on the small of her back. 

“Breathtaking. What is this gala for? You never said.”

Anthony hands her a program. Reading it, her heart plummets into her stomach. It’s annual gala for Breathe Free, John’s foundation. 

Belle’s heart starts to race. He’s here somewhere, of course he is, and she isn’t certain that she can survive running into him. She was so cruel when she left him, and she doesn’t think she can do it again. As she scans the crowd, wondering how she can possibly hide from him the entire night, he climbs the stairs to the podium and clears his throat. 

He scans the crowd, and like always, the two of them are drawn together like magnets. His gaze settles on her, and then moves away. For an instant, Belle thinks she might be safe, that he might not have realized who he was looking at. But his eyes snap back to hers before she can blink, and the fury that overtakes him steals the breath from her lungs. He looks like a vengeful god, a storm cloud building in his eyes. She expects lightening to crackle overhead.

Just as quickly, his face smooths, a mask of indifference back in place.

“Welcome, everyone, to the fifth annual Breathe Free gala! Please find your seats, the program will begin in a moment,” he says. Then he disappears from the stage, and Belle can breathe again.

Anthony leads her to their table and pulls out her chair. She thinks she may vomit when she realizes that her seat puts John’s in her direct line of sight. Her hand trembles as she reaches for her water glass. 

John stands at the podium again to deliver his keynote speech about the importance of Cystic Fibrosis research, and his own personal experiences with his nephew. Belle can’t help but watch him with rapt attention, even though it hurts. Even though he won’t look at her. 

After his speech, there’s dinner, dancing, and a silent auction. John and Belle studiously avoid each other, which is surprisingly difficult in a room of over two hundred people. Belle wishes she could just leave, but Anthony is paying generously for her time and it would be unprofessional to leave him hanging. 

Anthony leaves her to use the restroom, and the moment he disappears, John is there, dragging her to the dance floor.

“John, what…” Belle gasps. 

“It will look less like we’re fighting if we’re dancing, and I don’t want to cause a scene,” John says through clenched teeth. His grip around Belle’s hand is punishingly tight, but the touch against her back is light, and it stokes a fire in her that she hasn’t felt since she left him. She wants to press closer, to bury her face in his chest and inhale his scent, to be wrapped in his arms. She wants to feel his love for her radiating from his embrace. Instead, all she feels is thinly veiled rage.

“What are you doing here?” John asks. His eyes dance around the room and he refuses to look down at her. Belle stares at his throat, watching his Adam’s apple work as he swallows. She hesitates before answering, knowing it will make him angrier. 

“Working.”

His steps falter, but he covers it well. He breathes raggedly through his nose, the only outward sign of his anger. 

“I need you to leave,” he hisses. Belle can actually feel her heart breaking.

“I’m sorry, John. I didn’t know this was your event or I wouldn’t have come, but I can’t leave now.”

“Why not? Afraid you’ll lose a client? Surely you can find another to take his place.” There’s so much venom in John’s voice that it steals her breath away.

“John…”

“It can’t be because of the event itself. You go to plenty of fancy parties. There’s always another, right around the corner.”

“I need the money!” Belle tries to gasp the words back into her mouth, ashamed at her lack of control, but John has already heard them. He looks at her, finally, and frowns. 

“What do you mean you need the money?” 

“Nothing,” Belle says, shaking her head. “I just...it takes a lot of money to keep up with what clients expect of me. They want high class; I have to look the part. That means spending money on…”

“Shut up,” John snaps. Belle rears back, but he holds her tightly. “You’re lying. Why do you need the money?”

Belle sighs, knowing that it’s time for the truth and hating him a little for pushing her. There’s nothing left to be done for it, she might as well tell him. 

“My father left us with a lot of debt when he died. A lot. And my mum can’t work, so it falls to me to not only pay all of our regular bills but also pay off his debt.”

“And because you’re young and hadn’t been to university, you needed a high paying job that didn’t require a lot of education or specialized training.” It’s a statement, not a question, but Belle nods anyway. 

“I found it by accident, really. It was not terribly long after my father died and the creditors were calling every day. My mum was basically catatonic and I just needed a break. I needed to get out of the flat and away from it all for just a minute. So I got dressed up and I went to this posh club, where I met this man and his girlfriend. I danced with them, there was some kissing and touching, and after a while they invited me back to their place. I’ve always been pretty adventurous, sexually, so I went. We had fun and it was the perfect escape. The next morning the man bundled me into a taxi and put some money in my hands. I thought it was just enough for the fare, but when I got back to the estate there was several hundred dollars left over. I realized they had paid me for something I wanted to do anyway, and that it was more money than I ever made working in a shop.”

Belle realizes that at some point during her story, John’s grip on her hand loosened and he’d pulled her marginally closer. She doesn’t dare hope that he might someday forgive her. 

“Oh Rose,” he sighs. Belle tenses at the name, but John doesn’t notice. “Why didn’t you tell me? I could have helped. I told you I make enough for both of us, I could have taken care of it.”

“But don’t you get it?” Belle asks, shaking her head. “If I let you take care of it, I would just be drowning under a different kind of debt. I didn’t want to owe anyone anything, I wanted to take care of it on my own.”

John sighs again, deeply, like a weight has been lifted from his chest. He slides his arm further around her waist, starting to pull her in for a hug. And though Belle wants nothing more than to let him, she forces herself to step out of his embrace. 

“I’m still here with a client, John,” she reminds him. His brow furrows. 

“So then what now? Where do we go from here?” Belle spies Anthony across the room, making his way back but getting stopped by people he knows every few steps. 

“I don’t know, John. We can’t just…erase everything that happened. Aren’t you still angry with me?”

“Yes,” he says, without hesitating. Belle expects that answer, she was so cruel to him. 

“That’s what I thought. We need more time to discuss this than we have before my client gets back. I’ll…can I call you? Tomorrow night?” 

John nods. Sneaking a glance around and still finding Anthony halfway across the room, he leans in and ghosts his lips across her cheek. Belle closes her eyes against the sting of tears it brings. 

“Until tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're interested in seeing the actual dress I picked for Belle to wear at the gala, it's here: http://www.harrods.com/product/crystal-chiffon-gown/jovani/000000000004883675?cat1=new-women&cat2=women-new-dresses&cat3=women-new-dresses-gowns


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've run out of ways to say I'm sorry for how long it's been. Hopefully this chapter makes up for it. Our favorite pair has definitely turned a corner, but the story isn't over yet! 
> 
> Also, my beta (and bff) Marissa deserves and ENORMOUS shout out. That girl works 60 hours a week on a SLOW week and still manages to beta my stuff. She's the best. This story wouldn't be what it is without her.

Chapter 14

It’s the longest night of Belle’s life. She and Anthony go back to the hotel, and she lets him fuck her because he’s paid for it and it’s her job. Her heart isn’t really in it, but it hasn’t been for months now anyway, so that’s hardly a reason not to. After Anthony collapses with exhaustion, snoring heartily a moment later, Belle slips from the bed and perches on the window seat. She won’t sleep tonight, she knows, there are too many thoughts running rampant through her head.

She’s alternately hopeful that John can forgive her and convinced that they won’t be able to make it work. How can he want to be with her after all of this? But she so badly wants to be with him, to give a real relationship a try, and she can’t quite stop envisioning their next meeting. John’s wide, happy grin keeps flashing through her mind. She misses that grin. 

Tiptoeing across the room to her bag, Belle pulls out the envelope of money that Anthony’s paid her. She counts it slowly, her heart beating faster as she thumbs through the concrete reminder that she’s done, her debt is paid. There’s just about half left over for her savings, and she has enough saved already that she has time to find another job before she has to worry. She smiles, pressing her mouth to her knee to smother the giggle that’s trying desperately to escape. 

After counting the money a few more times, Belle tries to distract herself with some reading for the new term, but it brings back memories of John at the front of the classroom, lecturing in that manic way he has. She spends the entire night this way, trying everything to distract herself, but her thoughts always circle back to John. 

Finally the first pink rays of sun peek through the London skyline, glittering off the Thames. Anthony is an early riser, and he stirs not long after dawn. Belle hopes that he won’t be in the mood for a morning tumble, but he wakes with a hard cock and a hungry gaze. She sits on the bed and allows Anthony to roll her under him, as much so she can say goodbye to Belle as anything else. 

It’s a slow, sleepy fuck, and Belle doesn’t come. Anthony does, finally, and then rolls off her and pads to the shower.

“Check-out isn’t until three, and the bill is paid,” he says after he’s clean and dressed, straightening his tie. “Stay as long as you like.”

He leaves her with a kiss and a promise to book her again soon. Belle doesn’t tell him that she won’t be there for him to call. The agency will deftly switch him to another escort, and after one appointment it won’t much matter to him which prostitute he screws.

Belle cleans her face of make-up and steps into the shower, washing away all traces of Belle and emerging as Rose once again. She dresses in soft worn jeans and a blue sweater, a sight less glamorous than Belle would ever be caught in, but comfortable and functional. 

She stops at the bank on her way home, depositing the extra money into her account, before returning to the estate. The very first thing she does is mail the final payment on her father’s debt. 

“Where’ve you been this week, little madam?” Jackie sneers from the couch. 

“I told you, I was house sitting for a mate,” Rose says on a sigh. She drops her bag in her room and then goes to make tea. Jackie follows her into the kitchen and sticks a page of the Daily Mail in front of her face.

“Oh really? And did that mate just happen to give you a fancy dress and tickets to a party as well? Who’s this bloke?”

The paper shows her and John dancing at the gala. It must have been snapped just after she told him the truth, because there’s no tension in the way he’s holding her. Though neither is smiling, they are gazing at each other, and they make an arresting pair. 

Rose panics for a moment, wondering if she’s been outed as an escort, but the paper just calls her an “unnamed guest” and she’s not the first high class prostitute to end up in the society pages. 

“He’s head of the organization throwing the gala, but I wasn’t there with him,” Rose says. It’s not technically a lie, but it’s also not really the truth. “I was there with a friend from uni. He had a ticket and needed a date, but we just went as friends.”

Jackie snorts. “And the dress? How’d you ever buy anything that fancy? Have you been hiding money from me? All this time, you say we can’t buy this, we can’t have that. I never get nice things, and here you are in a dress like that!” 

“I borrowed it,” Rose says. Jackie snorts again, but then her program comes back on the telly and she drifts away, all the ire taken out of her. 

Tea made, Rose shuts herself in her room and digs out her mobile. There are no missed calls, but she didn’t expect any. She told the agency she would need a day to recover from such a long booking. She dials her manager, who answers on the first ring.

“Rose! How did the trip go?” Trish asks. 

“The trip was fine. Relaxing. Listen Trish,” Rose says, picking at a fray in her coverlet. She pauses and takes a deep breath, unsure how to say what she needs to say. 

“You’re quitting,” Trish says for her. 

“What? I…how’d you know?”

“Oh sweet, you were never meant for this long term. I’ve always known you’d leave someday. And I saw that picture of you and John Smith in the paper. You fell for him, didn’t you?” Rose smiles, relieved that Trish isn’t angry. 

“Yeah.”

“Your regulars will be disappointed,” Trish says, not unkindly. “But they’ll get over it. I wish you the best, darling.”

“Thank you, Trish. For everything.”

#

John sits in his flat, nursing a scotch, and thinking. It’s all there’s left to do, really. He cleaned the place almost the moment he arrived home from the gala, just in case Rose called early. Then he’d gone to Tescos and stocked up on food, just in case Rose got hungry. Now, he’s waiting. 

He’s alternately hopeful and skeptical, and still a bit angry. Rose could have been trying to get rid of him before her client came back, she may have no intention of calling him today. But she looked so sincere, telling her story. He wonders why she couldn’t have just been honest with him from the start. That’s what upsets him most, that she wasn’t honest with him. 

It’s getting near tea time when his mobile finally rings. Rose’s name flashes across the screen and he nearly drops it in his relief.

“Hullo,” he says, trying his best to sound nonchalant. 

“Hi.” Rose sounds nervous, her voice a bit unsteady and softer than usual. “How are you?”

“Fine,” John says. Then he swallows around the lump in his throat. Where do they go from here? How do they take the next step?

“Could I…” Rose starts, and then trails off. John holds his breath, waiting to see if she’ll continue. “Could I stop by? Just to talk.”

“Yeah…yes. Yes. Are you hungry? It’s nearly tea time. I could cook.” Rose chuckles and warmth spreads through John’s veins.

“That would be great. Starving, me.”

“Well we can’t have that.”

#

Rose wrings her hands together as she walks up to the building that houses John’s flat. She feels so out of place in Bloomsbury. People in the posh neighborhood must be able to immediately tell she’s an estate chav. She looks up and down the street, debating whether to go inside or run. Only the thought of John, waiting for her inside, makes her stay. She pushes through the door and trudges up the steps to his flat, knocking softly on the door. 

It flies open before her knuckles have lifted completely and she smiles at John, who is breathing like he’s just run a mile and trying desperately to look nonchalant. Rose fights a full watt smile, looking down at the floor and biting her lip.

“Hi,” she says.

“Hullo.”

They stare at each other for a long moment before John shakes himself and jumps aside, sweeping his arm towards the living room. Rose ducks past him. If she were Belle, she would have brushed against him as she passed, but she wasn’t. She never would be again. 

“I ran down to the chippy on the corner and got us fish and chips, because I remembered I can’t actually cook,” John says before she can say anything. “I hope that’s all right.”

“Great. I love chips.” Rose takes a turn around his flat. It’s elegant in a way that’s completely John; Spartan, not much in the way of furniture or embellishment, but full to bursting with books and science equipment. The kitchen is state of the art, but so spotless she can tell he never uses it, or hasn’t in quite some time. She ducks quickly down the hallway to peer into his bedroom, which is too tidy for him by half, Rose can tell he doesn’t spend much time there other than sleeping and even that is debatable. 

She quickly returns to the living room. John is unwrapping the fish and chips, but he doesn’t move them to plates, which Rose is thankful for. They lose something when not wrapped in newsprint. He sets them side by side at the breakfast bar and then pulls two bottles of water from the refrigerator. Again, Rose is thankful. They have a lot to discuss, and she doesn’t need alcohol fuzzing her brain. 

John pulls out her stool, giving it a little pat as he watches her expectantly. She smiles, tucking her hair behind her ears and lifting herself onto the seat. 

John gives her a broad, toothy grin and seats himself on the stool next to her. They both began picking at the food, the silence stretching out between them. Rose felt the greasy chips settle like rocks in her stomach.

“I quit,” she blurted. John’s head snapped up, his eyes wide.

“Pardon?”

“I quit my job,” she said, like she was telling him she quit a job in the shops instead of a high priced escort service. “This morning, I quit. I’m not an escort anymore.”

John’s smile softens, but is no less brilliant. He reaches out to stroke the back of her hand.

“Are you…are you happy about that?” John asks. 

“I am, yeah. It wasn’t so bad most of the time, but I’m happy to have paid off the debt,” Rose says. A little crease forms between John’s brows. 

“Would you have kept on after the debt was paid, if…if all of this wasn’t going on?” John asks, gesturing between and around them. Rose takes a deep breath, chewing her lip while she thinks.

“I didn’t do this for you, if that’s what you’re asking. Or, not just for you. I enjoyed it for what it was, and I don’t regret it. Maybe I wouldn’t have quit right away if it weren’t for you, but I quit because I wanted to. I know we have a lot to work out, but I wanted there to be one less obstacle in our way. Does that make sense?” Rose asks. She can’t help but feel she isn’t explaining the situation correctly, that she’s still making it sound like she quit because of John. 

“It makes sense,” he says, popping a chip into his mouth. Rose smiles and sighs in relief. 

They finish eating and John bins the trash. He pours them each a glass of wine, and Rose tells herself that she’ll just have the one glass. Her head will stay clear if she only slowly sips one glass. Wine in hand, they move to the couch. 

They sit close, but not so close that they’re touching, and turn sideways to face each other. John drapes his arm along the back of the couch, letting his fingers just barely graze her shoulder. 

“The one question I have…why didn’t you just tell me? Why couldn’t you be honest with me? And why…why act the way you did after I came to the pub?” John stumbles over the words, his voice thick and his eyes misty. Rose hates the pain she’s caused him. She reaches out to caress his knee, letting her touch linger as she tries her best to explain.

“I’m…very used to relying on myself, only myself. Telling you, in my mind, wouldn’t serve any purpose other than to make you pity me, and I didn’t want that. Or it would have made you want to pay for it, like you did last night, and I didn’t want that. I didn’t want to trade one type of debt for another. As for that night after the pub, I didn’t mean to lead you on. When I said let’s go somewhere, I meant to talk. And then I just got so swept up in it all. The next morning, I was scared. I was so scared and I didn’t know how to tell you that I couldn’t quit yet.”

“Rose, I understand that. I do. It hurts, but I understand.”

“Can you ever trust me again?” Rose asks, her own eyes misty now. John’s hand settles on top of hers, covering his knee, and he laces their fingers together. 

“I never really stopped. I was angry and hurt, and maybe I thought I didn’t trust you anymore, but I know you, Rose. I know that you have a good heart. I trust you with my life,” John says, ducking down a bit to meet her gaze.   
Rose can’t help the smile tugging at her cheeks, and John offers her a brilliant one in return. 

Their gaze holds for a moment as the grin at each other like fools. Then John’s hand is jumping from his knee to hers, sliding up her thigh to grip her hip, and he leans in to kiss her.

The kiss is leisurely and soft, their mouths parting and meeting over and over again. John presses forward, urging Rose to lay back on the couch and covering her body with his own. Instead of the all-consuming fire of times past, Rose feels content. A happy warmth floods over her.

The warmth is replaced with ice all too quickly. She’s afraid they’re moving too fast, skating over the issues. 

Rose presses her hand over his heart and slowly pulls her lips from his. 

“John, I…” she takes a deep breath. “I need us to go slow.” John sits back on his haunches and pulls Rose up, adjusting their position until they’re snuggled together in the corner of the couch. He strokes her hair and presses a kiss to her temple. “We started this whole thing because you were paying me to sleep with you. So much of our relationship has been based on sex, I need for us to get to know each other again before we jump into bed."

John brushes a butterfly soft kiss against her lips, smiling as her eyes flutter closed. 

“I understand and agree completely,” he whispers. He starts to disentangle himself from her, but Rose stops him, fisting her hand in his shirt. 

“But, a little making out never hurt anyone.”

John laughed, and kissed her.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas (or happy whatever holiday you might be celebrating)!!! I hope you all enjoy this chapter. We're getting close to the end!

Chapter 15

John’s tongue and fingers are doing amazing things between Rose’s thighs. Her skin is buzzing with impending orgasm and she’s panting hard, trying to keep her wits about her even though all she wants to do is give in, come, and then fuck John so hard his eyes cross. 

“Conformity based on a person’s desire to fulfill others’ expectations is called what?” John asks, his breath hot on her inner thigh as his fingers curl just right inside of her. Rose bucks her hips and fists her hands in the sheets beside her. 

“I can’t…” Rose pleads, near sobbing. He’s had her hovering on the edge for what seems like an eternity. 

“Yes you can. Almost done, love.” He presses a loud, smacking kiss to her thigh. 

“Um, nominal influence,” she gasps. John removes his fingers. “No!” 

“You know this, Rose,” John presses, tracing his fingers along her slit. Rose growls, clenching her teeth as she tries to clear her mind enough to remember the answer. “Conformity based on a person’s desire to fulfill others’…”

“Normative! Normative influence!” Rose shouts. John offers her a wolfish smile before plunging his fingers back inside of her and sucking hard on her clit. Fireworks explode behind Rose’s eyelids as she comes hard, her hips bucking clear off the couch. 

John works her down slowly, kissing her through the aftershocks. He stands and then scoops Rose into his arms.

“You’re going to pass this test with flying colors, my love. Now can I stop quizzing you and take you to bed properly?” John asks. Rose grins up at him, twining her arms around his neck.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

#

Rose wakes up pleasantly sore. She reaches out for John, but he’s not in the bed, and his spot is cool. It’s not unusual; she’s much more of a sleeper than he is. 

She slips out of bed, wrapping herself in a terrycloth robe and padding out to the kitchen. John’s at the stove, fixing a fry up, which is the only thing he can cook. There’s a steaming cup of coffee on the counter, waiting for her. 

“Good morning,” John says brightly as she wraps her arms around his waist and buries her face in his back. He pats her hands and she presses a kiss to each shoulder blade. 

“Mornin’,” she says, trading hugging John for hugging her coffee. She sits huddled on the stool, waiting for breakfast.

For the three months since Rose quit her job, this has been their Saturday morning routine. John wakes up early to cook breakfast, Rose stares mutely until she’s had at least a few sips of her coffee, and they spend the rest of the morning cuddled on the couch. These three months have been the best of Rose’s life, and she still feels like the rug will be yanked out from under her at any moment. 

“Donna and Lee are in Bournemouth with the kids for a holiday. I thought we could join them for a long weekend,” John says. Rose swallows hard. It’s not that she’s afraid to meet Donna, but she thought they might start with a dinner or Breathe Free event first, not an entire weekend. “She’s been pestering me, says she doesn’t believe you’re actually real.”

Rose laughs despite her worries. They have been a bit ridiculous, hiding away from everyone for three months. He hasn’t met any of her friends either. 

“Okay, let’s go to Bournemouth.” John leans in to kiss her, setting the plate down for her as he does. 

They eat quickly and then pack their bags. Over the months, a good portion of Rose’s clothing has migrated to a drawer in John’s chest, so she’s got plenty without having to go back to her mum’s flat. The only thing she hasn’t got is a swimsuit.

“We can buy one when we get there,” John says, packing both of their things into his bag. The domesticity of it makes Rose blush. Her blush deepens when John turns to leer at her. “It will be fun to watch you try them on.”  
Rose smirks as she imagines all the dirty things they could get up to while shopping for a swimsuit. 

They bundle into John’s car, a bright blue, surprisingly roomy, sport coup that he only drives on special occasions. He threads their fingers together, her palm against the back of his hand so that he can still shift gears, and they’re off. 

They’re an hour into the drive, halfway to the coast, when John says, “Would you move in with me?”

“What?” Rose asks, her head whipping around so quickly it makes her neck ache. 

“Move in with me. You’re already there most of the time, and I love you Rose. I want to share our lives together.” Rose feels her heart start to race. She wants to move in with him, so badly she dreams about it most days, but what about Jackie? 

“I…my mum, John. I can’t leave my mum,” Rose stammers. 

“You would only be a phone call away, and you’ll visit,” John rationalizes. Rose chews on her bottom lip, thinking, though she isn’t sure if she’s trying to think herself into or out of the idea. Her moving out might give Jackie the push she needs to get help, or it might drive her further into her depression. “Rose, love, I know you want to take care of your mum. It’s one of the multitude of things I love about you, but at some point you have to start living for yourself. It’s not abandoning her, I promise.”

Rose nods. Then a smile creeps its way across her lips. 

“Yes, I’ll move in with you. Yes!” She twists in the sweet and leans in to press an enthusiastic kiss to the corner of John’s mouth. He turns his head as much as he can while still keeping an eye on the road to kiss her back.   
John doesn’t stop smiling the rest of the way. 

They drive up to a quaint little cottage less than half a kilometer from the beach. Rose gets out, stretching her arms above her head, and takes a deep breath of the salty sea air. John comes around the front of the car and pulls her into his arms, bending down to kiss her thoroughly, like he couldn’t in the car. 

Rose moans and rises up on her toes to press her body closer to his, her hands sliding around to squeeze his perfect bum. She has visions of him bending her over the bonnet, making love to her out in the open air, and it makes her skin tingle. His groan when she bucks gently against him tells her he’s having similar thoughts. 

“Spaceman!” 

John jumps away from her like he’s been shocked and turns just in time to catch the blurred mass running towards him at full speed. Rose hears the breath leave him as the little girl slams into his legs. Her cheeks heat at what the girl must have seen, but she firmly pushes the embarrassment out of her head. 

“Hello, Miss Pippa! I’d like you to meet Miss Rose,” John says, standing back and gesturing at Rose. Pippa regards her with a critical eye while Rose takes in her fiery hair and incredible bone structure. She’s too gorgeous to be ten years old by half. 

“Hi, Pippa,” Rose says. 

“Are you going to be awful to Spaceman like that other lady?” Rose isn’t sure if Pippa means Reinette or Belle, but either way the answer is the same. 

“I promise you, I’m not. Also, why’d ya call him Spaceman?” John groans so loudly and dramatically that it sets both Pippa and Rose laughing. They’re still gasping for air when a trio that must be Donna and the rest of the family arrives. The little boy is panting and flushed, but he looks happy as can be running to John. Rose gathers it must be Fred, the nephew who inspired Breathe Free. 

Donna and her husband stroll along, looking happy and relaxed. Rose wonders if that will be her and John someday, strolling along behind rambunctious children. 

“Hi Uncle John! I mean, Spaceman!” Fred manages between breaths as John swings him up into his arms. 

“Fred, my boy! I’d like you to meet the lovely Miss Rose.” Fred smiles shyly and then leans toward her so far, Rose thinks he might just topple out of John’s arms. But John brings him closer and Fred softly kisses her cheek. 

“Hi Miss Rose.”

“Oh, just Rose, please. It’s lovely to meet you, Fred.” John winks at her as he sets Fred on his feet and the boy scampers off to play with his sister. 

“So she is real!” Donna cries. Rose isn’t sure what she expected, but the gorgeous, brash ginger woman isn’t it. 

Donna marches right up to her and Rose braces herself for a slap. Instead, she finds herself folded into a tight hug, the kind that brings tears to your eyes because you can feel how genuine it is. 

“It is so nice to finally meet you,” Donna says, stepping back so she can look Rose in the eye. 

“You too, Donna. I’m sorry it took so long.”

They make the rest of the introductions and hellos and then move inside the cottage. Lee gathers the children for lunch while the rest of the adults congregate in the kitchen.

“Would you two like anything?” Donna asks, pulling out food for the kids. 

“Actually,” John says, giving Rose a heated look. “Rose needs a swimsuit, so we were going to go buy one and get lunch in town.”

“Why don’t I take you, Rose?” Donna asks, her eyes shining. “Oh, it will be the perfect chance for us to get to know each other without Spaceman about!”

Rose can’t help but laugh at the pleading look John gives her. He looks like a puppy begging for a treat. 

“That would be brilliant, Donna, let’s.” John claps his hands over his heart and moans dramatically. Donna rolls her eyes. 

“Oh can it, Spaceman, you hate shopping anyway.”

“Not when it’s for Rose’s swimsuit,” John grumbles. 

On the way out, Rose gives John a kiss. “I’ll make it up to you later. Promise.”

#

By the time Rose and Donna return, they’ve shopped for more than just a swimsuit and they’re fast friends. The evening is spent with the children playing and the four adult drinking wine and laughing over every little thing. Rose can hardly remember a time when she felt so relaxed and happy, like she was part of a family, certainly not since her dad died. 

When they retire, well past midnight, Rose is certain it’s been one of the best days of her life. The happiness and the wine buzzing in her veins makes her feel bold. She stalks up behind John as he shuts the door to their room, reaching around him to flick the lock. Then she stands on her toes and catches his earlobe between her teeth.

“Want to see my new swimsuit?” 

“Bloody hell, I’ve been thinking about it all day,” John growls, spinning around in her arms. He grasps her by the hips and gives her a gentle push towards the shopping bags. She bends over to dig around in one, giving him a fantastic opportunity to ogle her arse, and then straightens, hiding the garment behind her back. 

“Sit down and close your eyes, John.”

He obeys, and just listening to the rustle of her clothes as she changes has him hard. After a moment of complete silence, Rose takes his hands and settles them on her waist. He groans at the smooth, bare skin and briefly wonders if she decided to forgo the swimsuit after all.

When he opens his eyes, he’s greeted with a sight that makes his mouth water. Rose stands before him in two scraps of bright red material that can’t possibly be considered a swim suit. Two small triangles cover her breasts and are held to her body with string. The bottom half is much the same; the important bits covered with itty bitty triangles tied together at each hip. She might as well be naked. 

“Oh God,” John groans. He pulls her forward, burying his face in her stomach and swirling his tongue around her belly button. 

“Do you like it?” Rose asks, her voice husky. He meets her eyes and finds her pupils wide, just a thin ring of whiskey brown around them. 

“I love it.” He yanks her forward so that she tumbles into his lap, and she shrieks, giggling. He kisses her hard and then pulls back and presses a finger to his lips. 

“We have to be quiet,” he whispers. Rose sucks her bottom lip between her teeth, her fingers toying with the buttons on his shirt. 

“Maybe we shouldn’t…”

“Oh yes, we should,” John insists. 

“There are two kids sleeping right across the hall, and your sister is sleeping right next door!” Rose reminds him. John shakes his head.

“They’ll never know, love.” Rose surrenders, kissing him deeply and settling herself more comfortably in his lap. As John’s hands skate over every bit of exposed skin, she rocks her hips into his, relishing in the bump of his cock against her clit. It sends spikes of pleasure shooting down her spine and soaks the bottoms of her swimsuit. 

“Oh God,” she gasps, shuddering in John’s arms. He buries his face in her chest, nudging the material covering her aside with his nose, flicking his tongue out to curl around her nipple. Rose pulls the cups aside to bare her entire chest and John takes advantage, sucking as much of one breast into his mouth as he can, and palming the other. Rose rakes her fingers through his hair, delighting in the way he shudders and moans. 

Rose grinds down on John’s cock, pulling him away from her chest to kiss him. The rasp of his tongue against hers makes her hum. John turns them over, pressing Rose into the mattress, thrusting against her as he peppers kisses down her neck and chest. 

“Wait, wait,” Rose gasps as John reaches for the ties at her hips. He looks up, resting his chin on her hip bone. 

“Yes, my love?”

“I want to you in my mouth,” she pants. John grins waggling his eyebrows as he flops over onto his back. Rose helps him remove his clothes, yanking his shirt over his head instead of bothering with the buttons and fumbling quickly with his belt as he toes off his trainers. Finally he’s naked, and she grins happily as she shimmies down his body. 

John’s head falls back against the pillows as Rose presses a kiss to his tip, then takes him into her mouth. She swirls her tongue over his swollen head and takes him in as far as she can, swallowing past her gag reflex. John whimpers as she bobs over his cock, the warmth of her mouth and the pressure of her sucking hard nearly making his eyes cross. 

“Oh fuck, Rose,” he groans loudly, threading his fingers through her hair as she presses against the special spot just behind his balls. His hips buck hard and he worries that he’ll choke her, but Rose anticipates it, moving with him and then releasing him completely. 

“Shhh. We have to be quiet, remember?” Rose teases. She rises to her feet, a vision in red before him. She looks so bloody good in that bathing suit, John wants her to wear it forever. She lifts her arms to untie the string behind her neck.

“Wait,” he says. He sits up, eyeing the chest of drawers behind her, and the mirror above it. Rose follows his gaze and then turns back with a brow arched. 

John stands up and readjusts the top of Rose’s bathing suit so she’s covered once again. Her nipples strain against the fabric, and he brushes the pads of his thumbs over them, making her shiver. Then he takes Rose by the hips and turns her around. 

“Bend over, hands on the chest,” he says. Rose gives him a filthy grin in the mirror. She plants her hands on top of the chest and makes a show of wiggling backwards until she’s bent at just the right angle. John curves his hands around the globes of her ass and squeezes before reaching between her legs to pull the material aside. 

“This is going to be hard and fast,” he says. “Ready?”

Rose meets his gaze in the mirror, her pupils blown wide. “Oh, yes.”

John watches her face as he sinks inside of her, inch by inch. Her eyes flutter closed and her cheeks flush a deep red, almost as red as the suit. Her chest heaves. John holds tightly to her hips. He wants to touch every part of her in the moment, but he’ll have to settle for one hand at her hip and one pinching her nipple as he pulls out and thrusts home again. 

Rose holds tight to the chest as he fucks her, hard. Her breasts bounce with each thrust and Rose feels pleasure coiling tight in her belly until she feels like one breath of wind might make her snap. She covers John’s hand, working at her nipples, and slides it down her body to her clit. 

John can feel the burning at the base of his spine, so hot and bright and it might consumer them, and rubs Rose faster. She whimpers and he feels her squeeze hard around his cock, making him gasp.

“Come, Rose. Come, come, come.” He can’t hold out any longer, his orgasm barrels into him, knocking the breath from his lungs as he arches into her. He has no idea if she’s joined him or not until she falls forward, her forearms bracing her against the top of the chest.

He lifts Rose into his arms and carries her to the bed, stretching out beside her before gathering her against his chest.

“Do you feel like it just keeps getting better?” John asks, once he’s caught his breath. Rose makes a sound that might be a yes, or a what, or a snore. She’s quiet for a moment before she lifts her head to look at him. 

“I do,” she agrees, sleepily. “I never dreamed it could be like this.”

John smiles, and kisses her. 

#

Their vacation at the beach is over far too quickly, but Rose is anxious to get home to London and start moving in with John. She’s already making lists of the things she wants to bring, and thankfully it isn’t much. 

“I want to meet your mum,” John says as Rose pours them each a glass of wine. The only sign that she’s anxious about the idea is a slight splash as the bottle trembles in her hand. 

“When?”

“Soon. Before you move in.” Rose sighs and takes a long drink of her wine. 

“Okay.”

It’s another week before they both have enough room in the schedule to move Rose’s things. She’s spent the entire week packing, and if Jackie has noticed, she never says. Saturday evening, John knocks at the door to their flat.

“I’ve got it, mum,” Rose says, though Jackie has made no move to get off the couch. 

John stoops to give Rose a fleeting kiss, but she hugs him tightly and keeps her mouth against his a few moments longer. 

“She’s not being very responsive today,” Rose says, taking his hand and leading him into the flat. “Mum? This is John, the bloke I told you about.”

Jackie doesn’t look away from the telly, instead lifting a hand to wave halfheartedly at John. Rose sighs. 

“Hello, Jackie,” John says. 

“Mum, John and I have been seeing each other for a bit, now,” Rose says, deciding not to get into the details of their situation. “I’m moving in with him. Today.”

“Fine, fine,” Jackie mutters, reaching for the remote and turning the volume up. 

“We’re not going to get anything more out of her,” Rose says. “At least not today.”

John wraps her in his arms and presses a kiss to her head. “Not to worry, love. We’ll keep trying. Let’s get your things.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting down to the wire! After this chapter, it's just the epilogue left!

Chapter 16

Rose is up to her elbows in dish soap when her mobile rings. She sees John’s grinning face smile up at her from the screen, but she can’t move quickly enough to answer it. She sighs, but continues washing the dishes. She’s only got a few more to go anyway.

Jackie sits in front of the telly, as usual. Rose has tried to drag her into conversation, telling her all about her classes and working at the university library, about her life with John and how he’s more than she ever dreamed she would get as an estate chav. Jackie never responds, not really anyway. She never engages. It’s been six months since Rose moved out, and she still isn’t sure Jackie’s even noticed. Rose continues to pay the bills, do the grocery shopping and the cleaning.

It’s wearing on her. Rose loves her mum, fiercely, but she hates that John is paying their joint bills because all the money she makes at the library goes to Jackie. She hates that she has to spend her one free weekday cleaning up after her mum, rather than spending time with her, or with John, or her friends. She hates that Jackie is a shell of the person she once was, but she doesn’t know what else to do for her. 

After the dishes are done, she taps out a text to John, letting him know she’ll be on her way soon, and then checks the casserole she put in the oven. It’s nearly done, so she goes out to see Jackie in the living room. 

“Mum, food’s almost ready. Are you hungry, or do you want to save it for later?” Rose asks. At least Jackie eats, so she doesn’t have to worry about her mum starving herself. 

“Later’s fine,” Jackie says, not even looking at Rose. 

“I’ll leave it in the fridge for you. Listen, John and I were wondering if you wanted to come to tea this weekend? You haven’t seen where I’m living yet,” Rose says. Jackie just makes a noncommittal noise in her throat. Rose sighs. “All right then, I’m going home. Food will be in the fridge, call if you need anything.”

Rose finishes up at Jackie’s flat, and then leaves, walking a little ways off the estate and then getting a cab. She’s too tired to be as alert as she needs to be on the bus. She tips her head back on the seat and closes her eyes for the ride, wishing she had John to curl up against. 

The flat is dark when she gets home, just a light on in the entry to guide her in. She finds a text on her phone that she must have missed on the ride over, John saying he was running out to get take away and that he would be home soon. She hangs her bag on the coatrack and kicks off her shoes halfway to the couch, then dives into the plush cushions. She just wants to rest her eyes for a moment.

#

John lets himself into the flat, laden with take away and wine. The flat is dark, and he briefly wonders if Rose isn’t home yet. The thought inspires brief panic in him, his errands took much longer than he thought, and it wouldn’t have taken her so long unless something was wrong, but his fears are alleviated when he sees her purse on the coatrack. He listens for a moment and hears a soft snoring coming from the direction of the couch. 

As quietly as he can, he drops the take away and the wine off in the kitchen. Checking to see that Rose is indeed asleep on the couch, he goes to his desk and unlocks the top drawer. From his pocket, he pulls a velvet box. Inside is the ring he’d only just gotten back from having sized. He tucks it safely in the drawer and locks it away.

John had planned to give it to her tonight, to propose over Chinese take away and wine. He knew she didn’t want anything public or flashy, and the idea of a quiet and seemingly mundane proposal felt right to him. Now, he couldn’t bear to wake her. The proposal would have to wait. 

He watches her for a moment, soaking in her beauty as he debates carrying her to bed or leaving her on the couch with a blanket. He doesn’t want to disturb her, but he doesn’t want her to wake with a crick in her neck either.   
Finally he decides to move her. He lifts her carefully, trying not to jostle her. She snuffles and curls onto her side once he lays her in the bed, but doesn’t wake. 

“Sleep well, my love,” he whispers.

#

Rose wakes up the next morning, nestled under the covers. She’s still wearing her clothes from last night, and she frowns as she tries to remember how she got from the couch to the bed. She realizes John must have moved her. 

The smell of a fry-up wafts through the doorway, and she can hear John singing along softly with the radio. She smiles and climbs out of bed, changing into leggings and one of John’s t-shirts before venturing to the kitchen. 

“Morning!” John says brightly, grinning at her from the stove. He’s dressed in Rose’s favorite pair of sweatpants; they hang low on his hips and fall just right over his bum. Desire flutters in Rose’s stomach. 

“Morning,” she says. She leans around for a kiss and accepts the coffee he hands her. “Sorry I missed you last night.”

“You were clearly exhausted. You barely stirred when I took you to bed. Feeling rested?” 

“Yep! Can’t you tell because I’m so chatty?” Rose teases, her tongue touching the corner of her mouth. John’s eyes darken as he watches her and Rose feels her cheeks get hot. John is always a bit randy in the mornings, but he usually makes a move before they get out of bed, if he’s going to at all. It catches Rose off guard and makes her mouth water. She still can’t believe how much she wants him. 

Rose takes a breath and sits down at the counter, reaching for the paper as John finishes cooking. Reinette’s scowling face looks out from the front page. She’s surrounded by reporters and personal security, being led away from Poisson Industries.

_Embezzlement Scandal Bankrupts Poisson Industries_

“Oh my God,” Rose breathes. John turns to look at her.

“What?”

Rose holds up the paper so he can see. “Reinette’s company has gone under. Her dear husband embezzled hundreds of millions of dollars and was also involved in some insider trading. Apparently the company has been struggling for a while, and this was enough to push it over the edge. Someone inside the company found out about it and reported him.” 

“Oh, she’ll not do well without money. She’s said more than once she’d rather die than be what she considers poor,” John says.

“I feel a bit bad for her,” Rose says. John dishes up the food and switches the paper for a plate.

“Don’t. A woman like Reinette will always find a way.” 

They eat at a leisurely pace, since neither has to be anywhere early on Thursdays. John asks about work, and about Jackie. Then he clears their plates, but tells her to stay put when she moves to get up. He goes to his desk and takes something out of the locked drawer, then seems to get lost in his thoughts, staring out the window. 

Rose can’t sit still any longer, so she gets up and goes to him, lightly stroking between his shoulder blades. He jumps and turns, hiding his hand behind his back as he does. His eyes are shining with tears.

“Love, what’s wrong?” Rose asks, taking his face in her hands. He leans in and presses a reassuring kiss to her lips. 

“I thought I told you to stay in your seat?” he asks, pulling back with a smile. Rose stares at him, not sure what’s going on with him. 

“John…”

“Hold on,” John says, interrupting her. He takes a deep breath, his eyes never leaving hers. “Rose, are you happy?”

“Yes,” she answers truthfully, and without a moment’s hesitation. John nods. 

“Me too. I’m so happy with you. When we met, I wasn’t sure I’d ever really be happy again. And I know we’ve not had an easy go of it, but the last nine months have been better than I ever dreamed they could be. And I know it’s fast, but…”

John sank down to one knee and Rose felt her heart stop. “Oh my God, John…”

“Rose Tyler, will you marry me?”

From behind his back he pulls out a small velvet box. He slowly opens it, showing Rose a ring that takes her breath away. The round diamond in the center is large but not obscene, and it’s surrounded by smaller diamonds in a geometric shape that vaguely resembles a flower. The whole thing glitters brilliantly. 

Rose’s eyes flick from the ring to John’s face and back again. Tears fill her eyes at the same time her love for John threatens to choke her. She nods and then finds her voice.

“Yes! Yes, yes, yes!” John grins and surges to her feet, kissing her as soon as he can reach her lips. Then he takes the ring from the box and slides it onto her left ring finger. They both admire it for a moment before Rose throws her arms around John’s neck. 

“I love you,” she says before kissing him, trying to pour all of her love and happiness into the press of their lips. 

The kiss stokes the fire that’s been burning in both of them all morning. Rose presses her hips into John’s, delighting in the fact that he’s already half hard for her. John groans, spanning his fingers over her arse and squeezing. 

“God, John,” Rose gasps as he nips at her neck, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. John just hums into her skin. Then he pulls back to look at her, a wicked gleam in his eyes.

“I want to fuck my fiancée on this desk,” he says, his voice a low growl. “That alright with you?”

Rose whimpers and nods. Her knickers are already wet, and she wants him so badly. She attacks his sweatpants, pushing them down his hips until she’s got his cock, hot and heavy in her hands. There’s a hiss through his teeth and he bucks into her grip, then focuses on removing her leggings. 

They strip each other quickly. Rose jerks him for a moment, and both of them are mesmerized by the sight of her ring glinting between them. She starts to sink to her knees, intent on having him in her mouth, but he catches her by the elbows and shakes his head, lowering to his own knees instead. 

He lifts Rose’s leg over his shoulder and cups her bum as he leans in to trace his tongue along her slit. Rose shudders and groans, the one knee holding her up buckling just a bit. John laughs before parting her lips and swirling his tongue around her clit. 

Rose tangles her hands into his hair, gripping tightly as he works her with just his tongue. He has her panting in moments, begging for release. 

“Please, John, please, oh God…” she babbles incoherently, trying to press his face closer to her center. He smiles and then sucks hard on her clit until her orgasm washes over her and she gasps. As he eases her down, he lifts her bum and guides her up onto the desk. 

“Come here,” Rose demands, scrambling to pull him up. He plants a hand between her breasts, gently pushing her down so that she’s sprawled atop his desk. He’ll never be able to work at home again without thinking of her just like this. He leans in to kiss her, letting Rose taste herself on his tongue, then straightens. He pumps himself a few times while he considers how he wants her. 

“Like what you see?” Rose purrs, letting her legs fall open. He leers at her, a filthy grin that makes her shiver.

“Mmm. Trying to decide how I want to fuck you.” Finally he reaches for her, hooking his arms beneath her knees and dragging her bum to the very edge of the desk. He pushes inside of her slowly, letting his eyes flutter closed as he concentrates on the feel of her, so warm and wet, squeezing tight around him. He groans.

“Fuck, Rose,” he breathes. She rakes her nails over his stomach and he bucks into her, hard, making her squeal a bit. 

Lifting her legs to his chest, he encourages her to cross her ankles behind his neck. They moan in unison at the feel. Rose can’t do much in this position, she can really only lie back and let him fuck her, let him give her pleasure, let him make her come. John doesn’t like the distance it puts between them, but he loves being able to watch her play with her breasts and her clit as he thrusts into her.

“Jo…hn,” Rose gasps as he thrusts hard. “I…love…you.”

“Love you too,” he manages through his gritted teeth. He won’t last long, he can already feel the burning in his spine. He rubs her clit in time with his thrusts until he feels her clench around him. 

“Fuck!” Rose screams, her back arching off the desk as she comes hard. He follows her moments later, spilling into her and collapsing on top of her, spent. 

“Oh God,” he mutters. He presses a kiss to her collarbone. Rose hums, sifting her fingers through his hair. 

“Fancy joining me in the shower, fiancé?” Rose asks. 

“Only in the interest of conserving water,” John says, trying to sound put upon. It doesn’t work, and Rose giggles as he lifts her into his arms and carries her to the en suite. 

#

By the next Wednesday, the glow of being engaged to John still hasn’t worn off. Rose has been grinning like a loon all week, getting distracted by the sparkle of her ring, daydreaming of married life. She never imagined that she would get such a fairytale.

She’s so happy that even her weekly trip to the estate can’t sour her mood. She’s singing love songs as she knocks and then lets herself into Jackie’s flat. 

“What’re you singing about, then?” Jackie asks the moment Rose is in sight. She’s having a lucid day, apparently. Rose smiles at her mum and drops the bags of groceries she carries onto the tiny counter. 

“Just happy. I’m allowed to be, aren’t I?” Rose asks. She starts putting the food away. “Thought you were going to come to tea last weekend?” 

“I didn’t feel like it,” Jackie says, waving her hand dismissively. Rose grabs the edge of the refrigerator door, straightening to look at Jackie. But Jackie’s eyes are glued to the ring, sparkling even in the dim kitchen light. 

Rose always thought that the day she told her mum she was engaged would be a happy occasion. Jackie used to love a wedding, and when Rose was a girl they would spend hours daydreaming of what hers would be like.   
There is no joy in Jackie’s eyes now, though, only a black rage that Rose has never seen. 

“What is that?” Jackie hisses. Rose closes the fridge and resists the urge to hide her hand behind her back. 

“John asked me to marry him. We wanted to tell you last weekend, at tea,” Rose says, trying to keep her voice calm and even. 

“I always said that school would give you airs and graces, and now you think you can run off and marry some rich man, just like that?” Jackie asks. 

“Now mum…”

“You’re just an estate chav, Rose, and you’ll always be an estate chav, just like me and me mum before!” Jackie cries. Rose frowns. 

“Mum…”

“You think he loves you?” Jackie shouts. “He doesn’t love you! You’re just a whore to warm his bed, easy pickings. An estate chav like you, all he’s got to do is give you a pretty ring and you’ll suck his cock for the rest of your life while he does as he pleases!”

“Shut up!” Rose roars. “You have no idea what you’re talking about!”

“You think going to that school is giving you opportunities,” Jackie says with a sneer. “But you’re going to end up just like me. Sure, he’ll marry you. He’ll give you a baby or two and fuck you whenever he wants, and then you’ll get a few wrinkles and he’ll be on to the next whore, leaving you with nothing.”

Rose doesn’t remember consciously raising her hand, but the sting in her palm is unmistakable. Jackie shrieks, holding her cheek and glaring at Rose, whose hand is shaking. 

“Oh my God,” Rose breathes, pressing her hands to her face. She’s never slapped her mum before. 

“You get out of my house,” Jackie says through her teeth. 

Rose doesn’t argue. 

#

John is sitting on the couch, reading over a draft of his latest scholarly article, when Rose bursts through the door. He jumps to his feet just in time to catch her as she flies, sobbing, into his arms. 

“Love, what’s wrong?” he asks. “I thought you were at Jackie’s?”

The question only makes her sob harder. He holds her tightly for a few minutes, until she’s cried herself out and her sobs turn to sniffles. Then he takes her by the hands and guides her to the couch, kneeling in front of her.

“What happened, Rose?” he asks, gently rubbing her knees. 

“My mum, she saw the ring. She said…she said awful things. She said I was a whore and that you would give me babies and then leave, and that I’ll always be a chav,” Rose says, starting to cry again. John makes soothing sounds and brushes the tears from her cheeks. 

“What else?” John asks. Rose starts rubbing her palm hard with her thumb, like there’s a stain she’s trying to remove. 

“I slapped her,” she whispers. John’s heart hurts for her. He takes her hand in his and lifts it to his mouth, pressing a gentle kiss to her palm. 

“It’ll be okay, Rose.” Rose shakes her head, slumping forward.

“I just want my mum back,” she whispers. “Before my dad died, oh she would have loved you. She hated my good-for-nothing boyfriends back then, always wanted me to be with someone smart and kind. She’d have the wedding half planned already.” 

John sighs. Rose was so young when her father died, still just a young teenager, she couldn’t have been equipped to deal with her mother’s depression and their precarious financial situation. But she’s older now, and she has him, and together they can get Jackie the help she needs.

“Rose, we need to have a serious talk with Jackie. She needs help, more help than you or I can give her. And you can’t keep supporting her, it’s wearing you down. I’m afraid the stress of it will make you sick, love,” John says.   
He knows he needs to tread carefully, Rose is so protective of Jackie. Which he loves, but he’s also far enough removed from the situation that he can see Rose and Jackie are only hurting each other, not helping. 

Rose sniffs and nods. “Okay. Let’s talk to her.”

Rose washes her face and reapplies her makeup, taking the time to calm herself and rehearse for the conversation with Jackie. John’s right, this talk is a long time coming, and one she would have tackled long ago if she’d been older when everything went to hell. 

They take John’s car, even though Rose thinks it’s a bad idea. Cars like that stand out on the estate, and it’s likely to be stolen or broken into while they’re inside, but John insists that the assembled hordes of Genghis Khan couldn’t break into it. That makes her laugh, which is much needed, and off they go. 

Rose hesitates at the door to Jackie’s flat. She isn’t sure how Jackie will react to her showing up again, and with John no less. John makes the decision for her by raising his hand to knock. Rose waits a moment, but knows Jackie won’t answer, so she lets herself and John in. 

“Mum?” Rose calls. Jackie hasn’t come barreling at her with an axe or anything, so they’re probably safe for the moment. 

“I thought I told you to get out,” Jackie says from the couch, her voice hard and steely. She doesn’t even look at them.

“And I did. I left, and John and I had a chat, and now I’m back.”

“So you can hit me again?”

“I’m sorry I slapped you,” Rose says. “But that’s not why I’m here. I’m here to tell you that unless you agree to get help, to talk to someone about Dad’s death, I won’t be supporting you anymore. The money I make is mine, and I choose to use it to help you stay in the flat and survive. That ends today.”

“You can’t!” Jackie cries, jumping to her feet. John’s hand curls over Rose’s shoulder, lending her strength. “I’ll be out on the streets!”

“I can. I’m not trying to be cruel, Mum, but you need help that I can’t give you. So either you talk to someone, or I stop paying your bills.”

“What if I see someone?” 

“Then I’ll help you out until you can start working again. But you’ll see someone, and we will see someone together as well. You need this, and so do I. It’s not right, the way we’ve been living since Dad died. It’s not living!” Rose insists. Jackie narrows her eyes at John, looking him over.

“And I suppose himself came up with this plan?” she asks. Rose steps away from him, coming to stand nose to nose with Jackie. 

“No, mum. He just helped me find the strength to do it. So, will you get help?”

Jackie looks between them, chewing on her lip, and Rose can see the fear in her eyes. She’s lived this way for so long, it’s terrifying to move on, but it needs to be done. Finally, Jackie nods. 

“I’ll get help.”

For the first time in a long time, Jackie hugs her daughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is a link for Rose's engagement ring, if you'd like to see it: http://www.harrywinston.com/en/belle-harry-winston%E2%84%A2-round-brilliant-diamond-micropav%C3%A9-engagement-ring-1


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man. Here it is, the epilogue. I've had this ready since I posted Chapter 16 but I couldn't bring myself to post it right away, because then I would be done with this fic, and I just wasn't ready for that. I also can't thank all of you readers enough for sticking with this fic, even through all the slow-to-come updates, and for taking the time to leave kudos or comments. It means so much to me. 
> 
> Know that you haven't heard the last from me either. My next fic, titled A Peculiar Unfathomable Combination, will be a Nine/Rose AU and I'll start posting it sometime in the next few weeks. I know Nine/Rose isn't everyone's cup of tea, but I hope you'll join me for that story too.

Epilogue – One Year Later

Rose stares at herself in the mirror, hardly able to believe that this day has finally come. Soon, she’ll trade her pink robe for a white dress, and she’ll walk down the aisle and meet John at the front of the church. Not long after that, she’ll officially be his wife. 

“Love, let’s get started on your hair, yeah? We don’t want to be rushed,” Jackie says, patting a chair in the middle of the room. Shareen and Donna have already had their hair done, and they’re lounging on the small couch, sipping Champaign and eating snacks. Rose studies her mum. She’s looking better than ever, her eyes are bright and alert, she’s wearing a dress, and she looks younger than Rose can remember seeing her. 

Jackies’s been back at work for six months, slowly rebuilding her client list. Just last week she put a deposit down on a new space so she can stop working out of the flat. And therapy is going well, she and Rose are closer than ever, though they still have their issues. 

It’s not perfect, but it’s better than Rose could have hoped for. 

“Sure, Mum.” Rose sits down and closes her eyes as Jackie works on her hair, curling it and twisting it into the style they’d been practicing for weeks. She smiles at the feel of her mum’s fingers working through her hair, the way it lulls her nearly to sleep. 

There’s a knock at the door, and Shireen squeals, thinking it’s John come to take a peek, but it’s just Mickey. He’s got a box with him, wrapped in thick ivory paper. 

“From John,” Mickey says as he hands it over. Rose smiles and nods at the small table by the door, where John’s gift rests. 

“That’s his. Will you take it to him?” Rose knows he won’t be expecting what’s inside, a pocket watch he’s been eyeing for months with circular patterns on the cover. Mickey takes the gift and Rose sets to opening hers. The long, thin box is red and edged with a gold design. It’s worn at the edges, but still sturdy. She opens the top and a note flutters out, revealing a gorgeous set of pearls. 

_My Rose,_

_These pearls belonged to my mother, and my grandmother before her. She told me long ago that they should go to the woman I married someday. I never knew why at the time, but I couldn’t bear to give them to Reinette. Now I realize that’s because I was saving them for you, my true love, my partner, my soul mate._

_I love you more than I can say, and I can’t wait to see you at the altar._

_All my love,_

_John_

Tears gather in Rose’s eyes as she reads the note. Jackie quickly hands her a handkerchief, mumbling about running mascara. Donna looks over her shoulder and smiles.

“Our mum would have loved you, Rose,” Donna says.

“Put them on?” Rose asks, handing the strand to Donna. She clasps the necklace around Rose’s throat, making sure they fall just so.

“Oh, they’ll look lovely with your dress, Rose,” Jackie says, returning with the tissues.

Hair and makeup done, Rose slips into her dress. It’s a lightly fitted mermaid style dress, made of French lace and crepe, with a sweetheart neckline. Sheer lace covers her chest and most of her back, adding a hint of sexy to the classic style. The moment she first tried on the dress, she felt like a princess. She can’t wait for John to see it. 

“Oh Rose, you look so beautiful,” Jackie says, fixing her veil around her shoulders. 

“I’m so happy you’re here, mum. I wouldn’t want to do this without you,” Rose says. They hug, a much more common occurrence these days, and Jackie presses a kiss to her forehead. 

The church secretary, acting as the wedding coordinator, knocks on the door and announces it’s time for the procession. Jackie leaves to take her seat, Rose lines up at the door to the sanctuary with Shireen and Donna. 

“Congrats again, Rose. See you at the altar,” Shireen says. She smacks a kiss in the air near Rose’s cheek, and Donna does the same. 

“I always wanted a sister, you know,” Donna says. Rose smiles at her soon-to-be sister, tears filling her eyes once again. 

“Me too,” she says. 

“And thank you, for bringing the real John back to life. Even when he was with Reinette and saying he was happy, he wasn’t himself. She brought out the worst in him, but you bring out the best, and I love you for it.”

Rose doesn’t have a chance to reply as the doors open, spilling the sound of the organ into the atrium. Shireen and Donna walk ahead of her to meet Mickey and Jack. Rose thinks she spots Jack winking at Donna and thanks whatever twist of fate paired them together instead of Jack and Shireen. She doesn’t need her best friend falling for the escort’s charms and into his bed. That’s more drama than she can handle. Donna can hold her own, though, especially when she only has eyes for her husband, seated with the rest of the family in the front row. 

The wedding march starts and Rose takes a deep breath before putting one foot in front of the other, wishing her dad were there holding her hand. John beams at her from the altar, tears gathering in his eyes. 

“You look…beautiful,” John breathes as she reaches him. She hands her small bouquet to Donna and then John threads their fingers together.

“You don’t look so bad yourself,” Rose teases. John chuckles, and they look to the minister to start the ceremony. 

The rest of it is a blur for Rose. She can barely remember what the minister says, but John says “I do” and then so does she, and they’re exchanging rings. 

“I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss your bride.”

John grins at her, a familiar twinkle in his eyes, and leans in to kiss her. He bends her backwards in his enthusiasm and the guests laugh and cheer. Rose breaks away grinning like a loon, and feeling like she’s won the lottery. 

“I love you, John Smith,” she says. 

“And I love you, Rose Tyler Smith.” 

The organ music swells again as they run down the aisle to start their life as man and wife.

**The End**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rose's dress: http://www.lestroissoeurs.co.uk/natasha


End file.
